


Gold Leaves of Autumn

by Kaiyo_no_Hime



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Asexual Ed, Assassination plot, I don't really do happy writing, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyo_no_Hime/pseuds/Kaiyo_no_Hime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed has been working in Investigations for several years now, when he discovers a plot to assassinate Mustang.  Now him, Hawkeye, and Havoc must figure out a way to stop it and prevent an internal government coup before it's too late; and figure out whether or not Mustang is in on it as well.</p><p>Slow update warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Ed clapped his hands and placed them to the ground, the grim grin quickly growing to a smile when the blue tell tale signs of his alchemy began to dance along the ground and he was thrust into the sky. He whooped for joy and closed his eyes, letting the wind play with his hair and laughed as he felt it whip freely around his face._

_His laughing voice was quickly silenced as he jumped, clapping his hands once more, and slammed his hands into the side of the pillar. He had intended to pull another one up, just like old times, and ride them into the never ending distance. Only nothing happened._

_Joy quickly turned to terror as the ground stayed stationary below him and the wind that had been so enjoyable just a moment before was now the whistling dirge of his death. Ed began to laugh then, his voice high and thready, as tears streamed from his face.  
_

* * *

Ed's eyes shot open and his breath came in pants. He could still feel the wind as it raced along his face, tearing at him as, once again, his alchemy failed. He groaned, pulling the heavy blankets up around his shoulders, and rolled over. The room was still dark, his heavy curtains blocking any light from the streetlights that bathed Central in their frigid nighttime glow, and he glanced idly at his alarm clock.

Three in the morning. He had hours before he needed to be awake, but he knew it was useless trying to get more sleep, the night was done for him. With a sigh he shifted under the blankets, and then threw them off, letting the bitter cold of winter bite at his skin. He reached out for the cane he kept propped against his bed, and stood up stiffly, his automail port screaming in protest. 

He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the pain as his left leg throbbed, and stumbled toward the small stove that was supposed to be responsible for the heat in his dingy apartment. The metal was cold to the touch, and Ed growled at it. He knew it was his fault, not the stoves, that the fire had gone out. He should have banked it for the night when he had slumped into bed, but he had forgotten. Now it was out, and, as he looked in the coal box with a sigh, he saw there was nothing left to burn unless he wanted to stick his small kitchen table in as fuel.

Given the cold he was half tempted to, it would be better than freezing in this weather. He snorted, and stood up again, muttering a few choice curse words at the stove as he hobbled into the kitchen and then stopped.

The stove was not only his source of heat, it was also how he cooked. There would be no comfort in a hot cup of coffee if he lingered, without his alchemy there was no way he could actually heat the water. He growled, but dragged himself toward his closet.

There was no help for it, but he knew a few all night cafes in town, and the newspapers would start circulating soon if they weren't out already. He could use the few hours to wake up properly and have an actual breakfast instead of another one of his sad attempts of cooking. He could certainly go for better coffee, if nothing else.

Twenty minutes and an icy shower later, Ed found himself carefully walking toward his favorite all night cafe, his limp barely noticeable. He was careful about that, he didn't want the others in the office to talk about it behind his back. He especially didn't want the rumors reaching someone like Mustang or Hawkeye; he could just imagine the trouble that would be stirred up by one of them stepping in to check on his health. 

To them he was still just that same head strong child that had managed to join the military when he was twelve. Yes, they knew he was intelligent and competent, but that didn't stop some sort of maternal instinct from going into overdrive whenever he was present. He would never live it down if they ordered him to medical simply because the cold annoyed his automail.

Thankfully he hadn't seen them outside of passing for several years now, and he supposed he had begun to fade from their minds. They would never forget him, but he no longer had to deal with them feeling sorry for him and going out of their way to include him in activities.

The lights were on at Vincent's, casting a neon glow from the windows and out onto the frosty sidewalk and street, and nothing had ever looked so lovely to Edward in his life. The coffee was good, and, more importantly, cheap, and they never asked questions. The eggs would be too runny for his taste, he had never been able to convince any 4 am chef about the dangers of raw eggs, but he could manage. After his life on the road his body was probably immune to anything he threw at it at this point anyway. 

He wondered, briefly, how Al was handling the Xingese cooking. He had heard that it was spicier than Amestrian fare, and while he would have welcomed it Al had always had a somewhat more delicate stomach than he when they had been children. His time in the Gate hadn't helped either.

He stopped suddenly at that thought, his toes at the edges of the light, and glared at his feet. He rarely heard from Al anymore, a letter once or twice a year, if that. He knew that his brother was wrapped up in his studies, and in enjoying life, but Ed felt a little abandoned by the lack of communication. He couldn't blame Al, he would have run as far and as fast as he could from himself as well.

Who wanted to stay near the person that had ruined their lives, after all? If Ed hadn't pushed so hard to bring their Mother back Al never would have been in that armor. He wouldn't have had to spend nearly a year recovering once he had gotten his body back.

He wouldn't have needed to see all that death, all the hell, that the world had to offer.

Ed gritted his teeth and shook his head, taking a step forward into the warm light.

No, he told himself, Al wasn't like him. Al wasn't running away from what he was afraid of, Al was running toward something better. That was all. Yes, that something better didn't include Edward, but Ed could live with that. It was only right that Al got to live his life the way he wanted now. That's why Ed took every spare cenz he had and sent it to Al; so that the only thing he had to worry about were his studies.

The bell over the door chimed, and Ed sighed. At least the diner was warm, condensation gathering lightly on the windows near the front. A hot breakfast in a warm room would be a nice change of pace.

“Eddy,” Sally, the night waitress, looked up from the newspaper with a grin.

“Hey Sal,” Ed greeted, his smile weak but honest, “Got a table?”

“Forget to buy coal again, huh,” Sal sighed and rolled her eyes, shuffling Ed toward his normal breakfast nook.

Edward winced at the reminder. He was an adult, he told himself, at some point he was sure he was also supposed to be responsible for little things like shopping. Unfortunately, even as an adult, Ed had slipped into the habit of not noticing things until after the shops had closed. About the only thing he did make sure he had in regular stock was coffee, but that's only because he lived and breathed the precious caffeinated beverage.

“The newspapers out yet,” Ed asked, sitting down facing the door, his back to the wall.

It was a soldiers seat, all exits in sight, his back protected. Sal had winced the first time he had come here after a late night nightmare and inspected the entire diner before choosing this seat. Winced, but hadn't argued. Enough sleepless soldiers wandered the night in Central that another one wasn't bothering her, it was just Ed's age that had made her eyes watery.

Ed's age back then had always drug a few sorry looks out of people. He was glad that that had passed fairly quickly once he turned eighteen. He had chosen his life, there was no need for Sal, nor anyone else, to feel sorry for him.

“Just the Gazette, the others should be here in an hour or two. Regular?”

“Yeah. Tell Jim to cook the eggs this time, too,” Ed grinned, gratefully taking the paper from Sal and skimming the front page headlines.

There wasn't much there that he didn't already know, the benefit of working in Investigations was always knowing the juiciest gossip first, but there were a few side bits that were news to him. Mostly smaller city work projects, and the entertainment news. 

The bell jingled and Ed looked up as another form, this one in full uniform as well, found its way into the building. His eyebrow rose as he recognized the man, and wondered briefly if he would be able to hide for several hours behind the curtain of the newspaper.

“Boss,” the man asked, and Ed lowered the newspaper completely, hiding his sigh with a sleepy smile.

“Havoc,” Ed asked, even though he knew the man easily by sight, “I didn't know you ate here.”

Havoc snorted, walking over and sliding into the seat across from Ed with the comfortable ease of an old friend. With the quick flick of his fingers he signaled for a mug of coffee for himself, and leaned back in his chair.

“Wouldn't normally,” Havoc admitted, taking the steaming mug from Sal happily, “But the misses is out of town, and, well...”

“Forgot how to boil water,” Ed asked, raising an eyebrow and drinking deeply from his own mug.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the smile role across his face. As black as sin and just as bitter, Sal always knew how he liked his coffee. She claimed she was just saving the dredges of old pots to reheat and serve to him, but Ed didn't care, it was his ambrosia.

Havoc snorted and shook his head, “I'm not that far gone; no, I picked up a few spare shifts is all.”

Ed scoffed, mouth still firmly attached to his caffeine supply, but shrugged. He wouldn't honestly know why Havoc would bother picking up spare shifts just because his wife was out of town, it's not like his salary was an issue. Yes, there had been inflation issues after Bradley had been overthrown, and the economy was still fluctuating, but not to the degree where Havoc should be worried.

“You're giving me that look,” Havoc sighed, nodding in thanks to Sal as she delivered his coffee.

“What look,” Ed asked, cocking his head to the side as he still ran the information through his head, letting it settle and twist like a puzzle.

“That look that everyone in Investigations gets when they think something doesn't add up. I just don't like being alone at home is all, nothing more to it than that.”

Ed sighed, and nodded. And, honestly, that was a common reason for newly married soldiers to pick up a few extra shifts now and then when their significant others were away. It was generally a joke to the ones with older marriages in the office, but an acceptable reason. And it wasn't like Ed suspected Havoc of anything in the first place, right?

“You okay Boss,” Havoc asked, putting down his mug of coffee and simply looking at Ed.

Ed brushed it off, running into a friend in the dark hours of the morning anywhere in town was generally a sign that there was trouble, but he knew he didn't look the greatest. The cold pulled and gnawed at his automail, and what remained of the automail still embedded in his shoulder, and the sleeplessness that plagued him hadn't done him any favors either.

“It's just a case I'm working, that's all,” Ed sighed, waving his hand as if to knock the concern aside, “It's nothing too major. You know how it is.”

Havoc's lips tightened, but he just nodded.

“I'm not twelve anymore, Havoc, I can look after myself,” Ed reminded him with a pointed stare.

That was the one thing that could still rile his temper; getting treated like a child. He had come to terms with his height issues, and, he was thankful to say, he had finally grown a little in his later teenage years, but getting treated like a child by those around him now grated at him. He knew it was just a holdover from the fact that he had joined the military as a child, and it was just old habit for them to consider him as one, but there was honestly no need to. He was an adult, he was every bit capable of taking care of himself. Even when he woke from nightmares and had to drag his aching ass down to a diner at three in the morning because he had forgotten to buy coal to heat his apartment. Again.

“Sorry, old habit,” Havoc finally admitted, smiling sheepishly and taking another swallow of coffee and staring out the window.

Sal interrupted the awkward silence with practiced ease, sliding Ed's breakfast in front of him and refilling his coffee mug before disappearing back to her crossword puzzle. Havoc looked at Ed's plate, and then lifted an eyebrow as he looked back at Ed.

Ed sighed, and rolled his eyes.

“I'm not a teenager anymore, and I'm not supporting Al's body anymore either,” Ed explained, carefully spreading out runny scrambled eggs on a slice of toast.

“That's not even enough breakfast for me,” Havoc said warily, “That's like a snack or something.”

Ed shrugged and raised the toast to his mouth, taking a bite and relishing in the taste of salty eggs and the thin layer of creamy butter on top of fresh, crispy rye bread. He knew it wasn't enough of a breakfast for an adult, nor was it healthy. He should have asked for a salad, or a piece of fruit as well, but this was the cheapest thing on the menu he could honestly call a breakfast. And it was small enough that he could keep it down, which is something he struggled with on the days after his nightmares. He was already wasting money eating out as it was, Al could easily use it better than he could, so he let himself enjoy this little bit, and wonder how Al was enjoying his food. What did they eat for breakfast in Xing? 

He hoped Al knew better than to be enjoying cheap diner fair like he was; what the runny eggs alone could do to his brother worried him. Salmonella, e. coli, the list of food borne pathogens was nearly endless.

Havoc just rolled his eyes as Ed over exaggerated enjoying the toast, licking his lips after every bite and taking the time to chew each mouthful at least fifteen times. As Ed took his time eating, Havoc stole his newspaper and sipped at his coffee, flipping through the pages with a wandering eye. Nothing really stood out, a new movie was being released that Rebecca might want to see, a few sales were being advertised.

An opinion piece on the future of the Fuhrership caught his eye, but he sighed when he noted that it was another half paranoid piece about the assassination of Bradley. Every now and then a new theory surfaced, but most people of rank knew enough of what had truly happened to ignore it. Most of the people in Amestris, too, had gone on with their lives.

It was nearly frightening how fast such large events faded from the common memory.

“Coup or diabolical plot,” Ed asked, wiping away a few stray crumbs from his mouth as he read the paper upside down.

“Diabolical plot,” Havoc sighed, turning the paper back toward Ed, “Apparently Mustang is now an evil plotting assassin.”

Ed nodded and hummed, sipping at his coffee as he scanned the article quickly, “Ah, I recognize her.”

“You do,” Havoc asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, she was one of Mustang's squeezes for a while. She shows up in Investigations every now and then trying to bribe people for material against him. You should probably tell him not to stick his dick in newspaper chicks, they always seem to come back for revenge with a truck load of crazy attached.”

Havoc choked and coughed on his coffee, his face going red as Ed grinned up at him, cheeky as ever.

“I'll make sure to let him know,” Havoc finally said, trying to hide his embarrassment with another long drink of coffee, “Thought you lot in Investigations kept track of that.”

“Yeah,” Ed leaned back in his chair, waving at the air, “Mustang's high enough that someone is, but that's not in my area. Too personal, that side of the business is too creepy. I like to keep to the more sane channels.”

“Yeah, anything good going on,” Havoc asked, his ears nearly twitching at the promise of intel.

Ed snorted, and drained the dregs from his mug, shaking his head when Sal motioned to pour him more. One mug of coffee, well, technically, one and a half mugs of coffee, were more than enough for him in the morning. He would grab more at work, but he would have to stop by lunch or he would never get to sleep tonight, and he desperately needed a proper night of sleep rather than a chemical induced wakefulness at this point.

“Not really, just some alchemist reviews that your lot couldn't seem to bother with checking.”

“I'm nearly offended,” Havoc sighed, slumping slightly in his seat, “There's just so many research alchemists since the new positions were created that it's hard to keep up with them all!”

Grumman had gone through and begun creating a division for research alchemists after he became Fuhrer. They were still attached to the military, for now, but their research was clearly not limited toward military research, and Grumman was clearly taking steps to further distance them from the military and creating a separate government department for them. But, for now, they were under the military and thus were reviewed under military standards. 

And General Mustang was in charge of all alchemists in the military, technically, as he was currently the only alchemist anywhere near that high on the food chain in Central. The instant the reviews had landed on Ed's desk, Ed being the most knowledgeable about alchemy in the entire Investigations department, Ed had known who to curse for the extra workload.

“You could try delegating,” Ed snarked, having absolutely no sympathy for Havoc.

Havoc would have not been reviewing the research, he would have been glancing over reports to make sure that they were in order, and then passing them on to someone who actually knew whether or not the report was complete bullshit.

“We did. To you,” Havoc replied cheekily.

Ed sighed and resisted the urge to shout at the ceiling. Of course Mustang would have known who would have ended up with all the reports; their was only one prodigy alchemist in Investigations who had conveniently not had any work the week they had all been dropped on his desk. He had been tempted to storm Mustang's office and beat him with the files himself, but had reminded himself that he wasn't twelve anymore. Hell, it was probably Hawkeye, not Mustang, that had known who would get the overflow work, and from her it was a sign of trust, not torment.

“I expect chocolate when this is over,” Ed complained, rubbing at his face, “Good chocolate, full of nougat and crunchy bits.”

“Sure thing Boss,” Havoc snorted, finishing up his own coffee, “Well, enjoy your… breakfast. You should come around the office sometime, it'd be good to see you.”

“Yeah, I'll try,” Ed said with a smile, waving Havoc off as he reached for his wallet. He could easily cover coffee for an old friend.

Havoc stood, gave a laughable salute, and wrapped his coat tightly around himself as he braved the cold once more. They both knew the likelihood of Ed actually showing up was slim to none, but it was nice of him to remind Ed that they existed, and that they were all, no matter how distant they had grown over the years, still friends. And maybe he would, if only to turn in the paperwork more directly than a few middle channels. Hawkeye, at least, would appreciate that. He only had one report left to review, so it would make for a fun way to finish the week. Maybe they could all go out for drinks or something after.

Ed snorted at that as he returned to flipping through the editorial section. Yeah, right, drinks. Like they didn't have lives that were already better spent elsewhere rather than reliving faded memories of yesteryear with a sad, pathetic ex alchemist. 

He glanced up to the clock over the counter and sighed. There were still a few hours before he needed to be in the office, but no one would complain if he came in early. If he walked slowly, he wouldn't even get there until nearly six, and that was a sane enough hour that no one would ask any questions. He really did want to get to work going over the last report, the Green Leaf Alchemist was making great strides into research surrounding creating artificial limbs out of organic material. Anyone could see his interest in that field, especially on days like this, where the cold tore into him and reminded him just how painful steel attached to warm skin could be.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed was shivering by the time he climbed the steps leading to the building that housed Investigations. He hated the building and everything it stood for, looming against the sky and threatening the entire city while refusing to stand out. Dirty secrets of dirty people were housed there, no matter how hard Ed and a few others tried to clean it out from the bottom up. But Ed wasn't inclined to play the political game like Mustang was, and so his progress had stalled as a bottom street sweeper of the dirty. 

He helped where he could, but even he knew it would never be enough. Hell, he wasn't even high enough to be of any use to Mustang and his rise to power; he wondered, sometimes, absently, if Hughes would have been embarrassed by him. He was praised as a genius, and yet, here he was, all these years later, and still nothing more than a paper pushing Major. 

A wind whispered and trailed icy fingers through his hair as he forced his automail to obey him and let him walk cleanly, if not stiffly, toward the front doors. The steps were behind him, he reminded his aching flesh, and the building would be well heated, even at this time of night. Or, as the faded blossoms of future light began to hover in the sky, this time of morning. Investigations, much like the rest of the government, never slept. 

It was with a grateful sigh that he pulled the heavy front entrance open, and quickly escaped into the warmth. It would take at least an hour to soak into his automail, but the promise of that warmth alone was enough to make him feel better. The door escaped his hands as he tried to shut it quietly, and was quickly slammed shut, ringing in his entrance with an echo. The guard at the front desk, there wouldn't be a proper receptionist for at least an hour yet, merely raised an eyebrow.

“A bit early for you, isn't it Major Elric,” the guard asked, sitting up straight and nudging the sign in book toward his huddled form.

“Duty calls,” Ed rasped, his voice still too cold to speak properly.

“At this rate they'll transfer you to night shift,” the guard sighed, “Trust me, you don't want that. No pretty ladies on the night shift.”

Ed snorted and shook his head, grabbing the pen with his left hand and switching it over to his right. Even after all these years he still forgot that he actually had his right hand back, his penmanship didn't need to be the messy scrawl that it had been when he had been an alchemist.

When he had been an alchemist. He sighed, signing his name clearly and neatly, and noting the time. When he had been an alchemist he never would have come to work and clocked in at six oh two am. Of course, he never would have been chased from his bed by nightmares of simply having alchemy. No, there had been worse nightmares to chase him from his bed back then, and some nights they still did.

It was better for everyone, really, that Ed had been neutered when he had. Before he caused something worse than Father's shadow to stretch over the country.

“You okay,” the guard asked as Ed paused, the pen trembling lightly in his hand.

“Yeah,” Ed managed, “Just the cold. Fuck winter, eh?”

“Yeah,” the guard nodded, clearly not convinced. But he merely folded up the register and kept his silence. He had been at the job long enough to know not to go chasing other people's problems. Especially those of men as legendary as Edward Elric. 

Ed nodded to him, and then began to make his way slowly to the small, cramped room he had claimed as an office. Normally he would have been shoved into a room full of desks, officially under the command of Colonel Migers, but he had been spared that simply because of the nature of his work. If alchemy became involved then Ed did, and Ed had half a dozen bookshelves full of texts that he insisted were necessary for research. So, instead of dealing with him, Colonel Migers had assigned him a private office, and merely stepped in to take credit where needed.

It was convenient, Ed had to admit. He didn't really get along with the others in Investigations, and so being left alone worked better. It gave him the space he needed to actually think, and it allowed him his one guilty pleasure during the winter: he could heat the room to nearly sweltering without anyone complaining. Yes, it was murder during the summer, but to have that to look forward to on these winter mornings was worth it.

Down a flight of stairs, his office must have been an old storage closet, down the hall with the broken light that no one bothered to fix and Ed never bothered to report, and just past the boiler room. Small, hidden, and his luxury. There were no windows, and the cement walls were breathing heat at him. He paused halfway down the steps, the railing leaving marks in his hand where he clenched it, and closed his eyes with a happy sigh. Already his automail was beginning to feel better, the metal no longer stinging against his skin.

He didn't know how they did it in Briggs, day in and day out for years on end, but he knew there was nothing better to him than being rescued by this heat. Allowing himself another deep breath, he continued into the bowels of the building; there were reports to review. He may not be able to rescue a single little girl, but he could stop any other state alchemists from killing them, and that was a duty he took very seriously.

* * *

Ed glared at the report in front of him. The Green Leaf Alchemist was a genius with botanical alchemy, no one could deny that. The problem, Ed was now beginning to see quite clearly, was that she was a genius in committing fraud as well. Her results, on paper, were astonishing, Ed doubted even he would have been able to work as fast with such amazing results at his peak, but they were too convenient. There were too few failures, every cloud was silver for her, every result logged, and too perfect. 

Ed groaned, leaning back in his chair. He also knew for a fact, because he did keep track of such things, that her budget was wrong. Not a lot, but she was marking prices too high here and there, and she was either pocketing the difference or she was using it. And Ed knew what an alchemist with perfect results and an imperfect budget meant; there was an unreported lab somewhere in the city.

Unfortunately he also knew that he would have to prove it. Simply going to Colonel Migers wouldn't be enough; the man was too lazy to get off his ass for anything but food and a superior officer. 

Ed growled, cracking his knuckles as he thought. He had the price lists to prove she had been embezzling, that alone would land her a court martial, but he needed to find the secondary lab. A second lab could mean more personal, and more experiments. He needed to nip her entire operation in the bud, and a simple embezzling charge from a lazy Colonel wouldn't do it. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help. He could follow a paper trail solo, but he couldn't follow a physical one.

He glanced at the clock. It was a hair past eight, a little early but the morning shift would be in their offices. And, more importantly, Hawkeye would be in hers. He needed a team that knew how to deal with alchemists, and the dangers they represented, especially a rogue one. And there was no one better, no one he trusted more to guard his back, than Mustangs team.

But, as that bastard had managed to get himself enough support to make it to just below the Fuhrer, Ed doubted that he drag the man out into the field for just his suspicions. First, he needed evidence, which would mean trailing the damn woman in the biting cold. And then they would gather the evidence, which, sadly, would mean that a pyro like Mustang still wouldn't be useful.

Ed sighed, and stretched as he got to his feet. First Hawkeye, then he would worry about how to deal with a rogue alchemist. He started to carefully shuffle the necessary paperwork into a folder, and then packed it in his briefcase. A few books, ledgers on the going prices of alchemical ingredients from government approved suppliers, he kept them updated monthly going back years just for this reason, and he was ready to face Hawkeye with his suspicions. He would leave it to her to go forward or not from there.

Alchemists were, technically, all under Mustangs command, after all. Or, at least, that's the excuse he was going with if she questioned why he was showing up at her office rather than Colonel Migers. Mustang may be a lazy bastard, but at least he did work. Ed had a bookshelf full of blackmail on how Migers managed to pass his off on others. No, if Ed was going to be in the field with alchemists, Migers and the other lazy assholes on his team were not the ones that Ed needed for the job.

He carefully locked his office behind him, placing the stray strand of gold hair carefully across the lock. No one would notice it, Ed was forever shedding stray hairs everywhere, but he would notice if it moved. The people in Investigations were a paranoid lot, and it was not undeserved.

* * *

Central was a slow city to wake most mornings in winter. The cold kept people inside, or, at least, out of even the chilly hallways as Ed cut through buildings walking to Mustang's offices. He couldn't blame them, already he was regretting the trek, and longing for his warm office. The boiler would keep the entire basement so warm that even his coffee wouldn't cool for at least an hour. Of course, given that he had simply started working this morning, he realized he hadn't actually grabbed a cup of coffee in his own office.

Oh well, he knew Mustang's team had a very nice machine. Part of the advantages of being a general, probably simply a sane piece of office equipment to have in general. Even Ed prized his lonely little hot water kettle, no matter how angrily it would spout at him from day to day. One of these days it would decide that enough was enough and win the war through self destruction, but so far, thankfully, that ugly day had yet to dawn.

He knocked swiftly on the outer office door as a formality, and then stepped through. The scene was painted nearly as he remembered from his childhood; Havoc was half asleep, his eyes dipping as he shuffled through paperwork, a mug of steaming coffee beside him, Hawkeye at her desk, Breda and Fuery arguing over something, and pieces of some sort of mechanical device dead on Fuery's desk. Hopefully the poor machine had not been involved with coffee, Ed thought, as he closed the door behind him.

The room, still sleepy, went silent. Hawkeye stood, a small smile dancing across her face, as Havoc frowned and rubbed at his eyes. Clearly his presence was enough of a surprise to be a touch more shocking than even Ed had predicted.

“Ed,” Hawkeye greeted him, “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Just work,” Ed sighed, tapping at his satchel, “Is the Bastard in?”

Breda just shook his head and chuckled, it was nearly like old times, but Fuery's voice stilled in his throat before he could respond when Hawkeye cast a glare at the two of them. Quickly they ducked, hands scrabbling for any paperwork they could reach. Hawkeye sighed, and then shook her head.

“The General had several late meetings last night and won't be in until this afternoon. Can it wait,” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

She knew it couldn't wait. If Ed had been more social, if he had forced himself to hang out with them more often, then maybe him showing up here could be dismissed. But Ed hadn't. Ed knew it was his fault, it's not like they had been transferred anywhere, and it should have been easy for him to come to them. But now that he was here, he had a satchel full of incriminating documents and suspicions of a rogue alchemist.

He wouldn't be drinking with them after work tonight. And probably not any time in the foreseeable future. Which is a shame, Ed admitted, he remembered Al warning him against this drift before he left for Xing. Insisting that Ed needed to be a part of this new family that they had apparently become a part of.

Ed wondered if they heard from Al more than he did. The last letter he had received had been casual and dull. And had arrived six months ago. The one before that nearly identical, prattle about the weather and something about a rice dish, and had been seven months before the last one. Maybe Al was sending the letters to them instead, thinking that they and Ed had never drifted.

And maybe Ed still had his alchemy. Oh well. What was done was done, and his work was more important now.

“Ed,” Hawkeye spoke up, her voice interrupting his train of thought before it began taking dark tunnels that he had been trying to avoid, “We can talk in his office.”

Ed nodded thankfully at that. The last thing he wanted is everyone swarming over him for juicy tidbits of gossip he wasn't even sure were true yet. The Green Leaf Alchemist could just be a crappy record keeper for all he knew, getting scammed by several different suppliers at the same time. He didn't want to ruin the woman's reputation. Especially if she was discovering a way to grow organic human limbs.

He would give anything to ditch the metal, even if that meant a green leg.

Hawkeye closed the door carefully behind Ed, and motioned toward the desk. While Mustang's chair was obviously empty, Hawkeye did not bother to sit in it as she walked to his side of the desk. Ed shrugged, he wouldn't think anything of her swiping his seat to do work while he was busy being hungover at home, because he had seen the amount of drinking that went on at late night meetings in government offices. He wondered if Mustang would even remember the name of the woman he brought home last night, or if she had slipped out before he could bother forgetting.

“This is just what I found,” Ed sighed, placing his satchel on the desk and beginning to pull out his record books and Green Leaf's reports, “But it does warrant a lab inspection at the least.”

Hawkeye nodded and hummed, flipping through the paperwork and then looking at the numbers where Ed pointed them out. It took twenty minutes for them to cross reference everything, or, more accurately, for Hawkeye to check Ed's references. His accusation was serious; if he had reported her as incompetent or unsatisfactory there would still be an inspection, but his charges could easily become prison time if they were serious enough.

“How bad could it be,” Hawkeye finally asked, her gaze level with Ed's.

“I don't know,” Ed admitted, “She could be incredibly lucky and could have just never had the level of failure to be expected. Or she could be ashamed and be hiding the failure results at a hidden lab somewhere; maybe she's afraid that if there was too many failures the government would cut her contract. I'd need a full lab inspection to know for sure.”

“And the embezzlement,” Hawkeye asked, “It doesn't seem like much.”

“It's not,” Ed confirmed, “But it's more than enough for a small second lab. Or just a slightly nicer house. I don't have any of her personal financial records to cross reference. Is she from money? Does she wish she was? It could just be enough for something stupid like that.”

Hawkeye nodded slowly, staring at the paperwork as she let her mind work, and Ed stood back and watched. He had never been the greatest at this part of the game, he had always just rushed in with his fists and his alchemy and hoped for the best. In his case, he had been lucky and he had been right, and fighting enemies where it had actually worked. But, after growing a little older and a little wiser, he knew that he had been lucky he hadn't died within his first year in the military. Or his second, or even third. Now that he was minus his alchemy and plus a little brains, he was going to stand back and plan.

Or, at least, stand back and let others plan. He could think when he needed to, but this was a little outside his circle of what he was used to. They needed to be non threatening, the last thing anyone wanted to do was set an alchemist off. That's how people died.

“All alchemists need in person lab reviews every three years,” Hawkeye finally said, looking up at Ed, “So this could easily be hidden as one, it's about time for it anyway. Not today, that would be too early, but on Wednesday. I'll take you and Havoc, interview the assistants and Green Leaf herself, look over the files she has, and see the experiments.”

“We can't get in earlier?” Ed demanded, he didn't like the thought of her crawling around the city, free to do what she pleased.

“No, there are rules even we have to follow unless there is evidence otherwise,” Hawkeye sighed, “And this isn't enough for more than just a review. I can have Fuery tap her phones, and Havoc can tail her. But that's it.”

Ed nodded in defeat. Bureaucracy was something even he couldn't escape.

“We should bring Mustang,” Ed insisted, “Guns don't do jack shit against alchemy.”

“If he showed up she would go running in an instant,” Hawkeye replied, “You have alchemists in Investigations, why not bring one of them?”

Ed huffed, and held in the urge to spit, “Too dirty or too lazy. Either would get us killed. Wednesday. Send word to me when, I'll be busy going over her personal files.”

“You have access to her personal files,” Hawkeye asked, surprised. 

“Investigations,” Ed shrugged, “I have access to the Bastard's if I want. So if you need any dirt dug up...”

Hawkeye snorted and rolled her eyes, “I assume you have actual work that needs to get done today.”

“Sadly yes,” Ed sighed, beginning to collect his paperwork, “Although, there is one thing,” Hawkeye paused as she was handing him a book, “There's been word around the office about a new insurgent group. Nothing big, but it's a little odd and maybe up Green Leaf's alley. They worship some plant god, and I'd rather it not get out that we're suspicious of her in case they're involved.”

“This office is clean, Ed,” Hawkeye snapped coldly.

“Yeah, I know, I trust you with my life,” Ed replied, “But they like to gossip.”

And it was true. As much as Ed trusted them with his life, and had done so so many times before, Fuery had a habit of spilling beans he shouldn't know when he got too drunk, and Breda whispered in his sleep. No, he knew the team, and that's why he was taking this directly to Hawkeye. Well, he had been taking it directly to Mustang because he had thought a quick slash and burn with Mustang and Hawkeye would be enough, but the thought was the same: keep this quiet. Rogue alchemists and violent plant worshiping groups sounded like a bad way to end the weekend.

“Alright, but that means no tap.”

“That's fine,” Ed sighed, “If Havoc follows her, just see if she has a second lab. That's where we'll want to hit.”

Hawkeye nodded, and Ed buckled the straps of his bag before carefully placing it on his right shoulder. The office was warm, but the constant change in temperatures was playing hell with the metal that was permanently embedded there. He scowled as Hawkeye noticed and opened her mouth.

“It's fine,” Ed snapped, cutting her off before she could ask questions he didn't want to hear.

“Send Havoc in when you leave,” she finally asked, waving at the door, “I'll send him with the paperwork you need.”

“Basement, next to the boiler room,” Ed replied, “You can't miss it.”

Hawkeye's lips thinned, but Ed just turned and walked for the door, ending the complaints that he knew she had. It was a shitty office, but he liked it. But Hawkeye had known him longer than his mother had at this point, and he could already hear her complaints snapping on her tongue. And he didn't care, as long as the coffee was hot and the heating worked he was happy. All windows and sunlight did was destroy documents.

“Oi, Havoc,” Ed snapped, slamming the door a little too hard behind him, “Wake up, Hawkeye needs to talk to you.”

Havoc's head popped up, drool sticking a piece of paper to his face, and Ed sighed and rolled his eyes. No house was so empty that he would give up sleep to avoid it, in his opinion. Then again, he wasn't the one that was married. Hopefully that woman had words with him over this when she got back, Hawkeye was going to tear him a new one for this.

“Hey, we're going drinking after work,” Breda offered as Havoc shuffled into Mustang's office and closed the door.

“Sorry, but I've got plans tonight. Maybe later,” Ed asked, smiling as Fuery deflated with a sigh.

Yeah, he had plans. Plans to remember to buy coal and spend the weekend researching the entire life of an alchemist that was obsessed with plants. But he couldn't bring himself to be around them, not tonight. He may end up getting one of them killed next week by accident, and knowledge like that was already killing him a little inside.

No, there was no drinking with friends for Edward Elric this weekend. There was planning and research on how to keep friends alive. And, hopefully, the entire city as well. You never could tell with damned alchemists, some of them had more power than common sense.

“Yeah, maybe later,” Fuery said, and Ed nodded at them as he closed the door carefully behind him and started the freezing trek back to his own office.

Yeah, maybe later. 

He should have asked if they had heard from Al, he realized part way back to Investigations. But no, he shook his head and kept walking, if he asked about Al they could get worried, and the last thing he wanted was for them to worry about him. They had their own lives to worry about, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter. Yeah, still slow and building a bit of a framework, and a little sloppier than the first chapter. For that I really apologize, I really need to stop writing when I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. But I hope you all enjoyed it, more to come over the upcoming weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

The knock on the door surprised Ed, and he looked up as Havoc let himself in and stopped short. Ed snorted, and waved at his desk, there was a clear area on it where Havoc could easily set the papers down. A few seconds passed and Ed sighed as he watched Havoc fully take in the office, bookcases crammed to the point of spilling over, and an entire line of filing cabinets shoring up the back wall. All in all, it was a rather cluttered sight compared to the pristine land Hawkeye lorded over.

“Uh,” Havoc said, stepping carefully around the door and placing the large packet of papers down. 

Ed frowned, grabbing them and beginning to flip through the pages with a sigh. As he expected, there was nothing here that Investigations didn't already have on file. In fact, unless he was mistaken, this was actually less. But, then again, leave it to spooks like him to have things such as childhood pets and a full scholastic history in triplicate. Just in case.

Just in case of scenarios like this.

“There's no window,” Havoc finally said.

“Underground rooms tend to be without windows,” Ed replied, his nose still buried in the file, “Better for the books that way.”

“Yeah, but Boss, don't you miss the light,” Havoc asked, staring at the younger man, concern in his eyes.

“And that's why I take my lunch outside,” Ed lied with practiced ease, “Well, when the weather isn't so fucking cold.”

Havoc snorted, shaking his head, but Ed could tell he wasn't buying the explanation. Ed had become so used to just fobbing off lies like that on others he barely knew that he had forgotten that others might honestly think about what he was saying. Thankfully it was winter, and so he could explain away his pasty complexion that way. No one wanted to sit around eating lunch in the park while their butt was busy freezing to a seat after all.

“Hawkeye also reminded you to come in on Monday to speak with the General,” Havoc sighed, letting Ed's little lie go, “Apparently there's more paperwork for you.”

“There's always more paperwork for me,” Ed sighed, leaning back in his chair, eying the stacks on his desk that he needed to get through.

He missed the days when all he had to do was get pointed at a problem and let Mustang do the rest of the work. It sure as hell was easier than actually thinking his way around things now. And to think he actually used to bitch about the reports he had to write back then. Oh to be that young and dumb once more.

“Breda said you turned down his invitation,” Havoc said, leaning back against the door, “Got plans with a pretty lady?”

“Yeah, the most beautiful in town,” Ed said with a grin.

Well, the woman that ran the grocer's shop near his place was what could easily pass as visually attractive. Green eyes, dark hair, and dimples. She certainly had enough men visiting the shop just to flirt with her. And there was always a small sale of some sort, he appreciated a good bargain even if it left his meals a little odd at times.

“Are you okay,” Havoc asked, the frown growing over his face, “It's okay if you're not, but drinking alone isn't going to solve anything.”

“I'm fine, Havoc,” Ed snapped, “I'm not some closet drunk like that Bastard. And I'm not a kid anymore, I actually do know how to care for myself.”

“Really? Then when's the last time you did anything but work and sit at home?”

Ed sat up in his chair, his left leg aching as it tensed, ready to throw him to his feet. He could almost feel the creak and whir of his automail as he glared at the older man. How dare he throw his decisions back in his face? He was an adult, and there were consequences to his actions. And he'd be damned if he tried to escape from them just because they were inconvenient. Every last cenz he had went to Al or charity, and they all deserved it far more than he.

“Get out of my office,” Ed spat, “Just because you knew me as a kid doesn't mean you get to play father and tell me what I should or shouldn't do.”

“I'm your friend, Ed,” Havoc snapped back, “And friends step in when they need to.”

And with a slammed door Havoc was gone, and Ed wilted, feeling like it had been years since he had last had any rest. Leave it to him to alienate a friend over a simple invitation. He really was a dog of the military, and now he was biting the only kind hands he had ever known.

Al wouldn't have snapped like that. Al would have an office with windows, and his own team, instead of playing merry king in the basement. Al would have accepted the invitation, hell, he would have been a regular with them on Friday nights, no invitation needed.

Ed buried his face in his hands and tried to calm his breathing.

Al hadn't wanted to try human transmutation. And it was Al that had paid the price.

Compared to Al's suffering, this was nothing. He should have tried to rise higher in rank, Ed argued with himself, Al could probably use a few more cenz in Xing. A little spending cash so he could go drinking with friends the way Ed never could.

* * *

The small grocer's near his place was a cheery little shop, always decorated for the season, well lit, and the produce was fresh. Ed enjoyed it, when he remembered he actually needed human sustenance and stopped in, and this evening would be no different. 

Lucy was being sweet talked by some new guy, but interrupted him to wave at Ed smiling and clearly giving the newcomer the cold shoulder. Ed just snorted and shook his head as the guy glared. To think someone could think someone like him was competition was hilarious. He wondered why Lucy even put up with idiots like that; he could probably suggest a few books for her if she was honestly so bored that she had nothing else to do.

“You're limping,” Lucy came up behind him, a wrapped package in her hands, “And you haven't been in in nearly two weeks. What are you even living on at this point?”

“Coffee,” Ed sighed, turning around, the basket in his arms still empty. He had been trying to decide whether or not he wanted to splurge on a little bit of sugar. 

Salt he knew he needed, the human body didn't work well without it, but sugar? Sugar was a luxury. It was appreciated, but not something he absolutely needed. And the prices on it were rising again, so it was probably better to do without. He needed eggs though, he reminded himself, and bread and butter.

Lucy placed the package in his basket and he frowned at it curiously. 

“Meat,” Lucy explained with a sigh, “You need a little meat to put some meat back on your bones. And don't give me that look, I know how automail puts strain on a body. You're going to get sick if you keep up like this. All bread and eggs and never enough of either. My grandmother would have you sleeping in the kitchen, a line of sausages always ready, and cursing up a storm if she could see the likes of you.”

“I-”

“Don't give me any of that crap about you being fine, I know trouble when I see it,” Lucy snapped back, waving her finger in his face, “Everyone else may have forgotten what you did, but I still remember. So you take that bacon Mr Elric, or I'll have your hide!”

“Yes ma'am,” Edward gulped, nodding, his eyes wide.

Why did it always have to be that women who worked with meat were so scary? First Teacher and now Lucy. He only hoped Lucy didn't actually know Teacher, or else he could end up with trouble of another sort pounding on his door. Loudly. And probably not bothering with the door, either.

“Now, let's get you some nice tea, I have a few that will help with that limp of yours,” Lucy said with a smile, and Ed followed after her obediently.

Apparently their tiny friendship had bloomed into a full on relationship of some sort, and Ed wasn't dumb enough to say no or ask questions. To be honest, he was a little grateful. He knew he was falling, just a little, and this was an excuse to pull himself back up a little. Some bacon, some tomatoes, salt, sugar, pepper, eggplant, bread. Lucy kept putting a little here and there into his basket, as well as the herbal tea for automail aches that he usually avoided.

And, last but not least, the cloth wrap of coal. Enough to keep his tiny apartment warm for at least a week if he overdid it. Lucy stared him down when he started to argue, he didn't even know what to do with an eggplant outside of throw it at someone, but instead just nodded. She was right, he needed the heat, and he needed the food. Both a little more than he liked to admit, especially as of late. Al would be so ashamed of him, letting himself just sink like this. He had been the Fullmetal Alchemist, he was supposed to rise above all obstacles and be better than this.

“And you'll be returning next week for more,” Lucy said, a cold glint in her eye that honestly did remind him of Teacher, “You need some good greens in your diet, but I won't have any in until Wednesday, what with the weather and all.”

“Yes Lucy,” Ed sighed, juggling the packages carefully, “I still don't know how to cook an eggplant.”

“You like books, I'm sure one of them will have plenty of helpful tips. Just look for one that says 'cookbook' across the front,” she smiled and Ed rolled his eyes, quickly making his escape back into the cold.

He wondered if he actually did have any cookbooks amongst his rather large book collection. Maybe Al left one behind somewhere, he always did have a habit of making sure there were a few more practical touches around than Ed did.

No, Ed reminded himself, Al wouldn't have. Al had never seen his current apartment. He had shared a larger one with Ed before he left for Xing, one of the more modern ones with two bedrooms. The nicest that Ed had been able to afford, to make sure that Al was comfortable. He had been so afraid that Al would catch something, he was glad that he was in Xing where, at least, the weather was warmer and Ed didn't have to worry about him freezing to death for lack of some coal.

* * *

Alice DuMont, the Green Leaf Alchemist, was not rich. Looking over her complete history, Ed noted that while she did not come from money, she was pure middle class through and through. Her parents had died during the Promised Day, but she had been an adult before then. In fact, she had not even bothered to attend their funeral, they had been estranged.

Ed nodded thoughtfully at that. No family, well off, and boring to a fault. She was actually the sort of person that he expected to just snap one day. It took friends and family to keep a person stable in a world that had become as suddenly topsy turvey as Amestris had in recent years, and she hadn't even budged. Either she was stronger than he thought, or she was about to snap. Or, given the paperwork that pointed toward suspicious activity, she already had.

Her parents had owned a small warehouse, he noted. She had inherited the property but never sold it. He would have to get the blueprints on Monday, he hated how the weekends slowed him down at times, but it was the perfect place for another lab. A nearly abandoned area of the city, no one would take note of anyone down there. Hell, he would be less suspicious if he thought she was making drugs to sell for profit, at least that was less sinister than rogue alchemy.

He ate another forkful of eggplant omelet and sighed. Apparently eggplant was just not an omelet food. And, he had discovered, just as he had thought, he did not, in fact, have a cookbook amongst his things. But cutting it up and frying it with an egg seemed like the most intelligent choice, and at least it was edible. Mostly. He had only burned it a little.

The coffee was fine, though. He stood by his talents there, no matter what else his kitchen may say about him. At least he could boil water, and he could survive off of anything else he ruined. The bacon had survived without issue, but bacon was easy. Apply heat until done, try not to apply too much for too long. He should probably write a cookbook for bachelors, he made a mental note, he would make a fortune.

But the issue at hand remained; what to do with Alice DuMont? What was she up to in her second lab? Hiding failed experiments? Performing illegal ones? He should have grabbed some files about that new plant religion that was growing. Her obsession with plants, to the point of alienating all people around her, was well noted. Several of her lab assistants even noted that she cared more about her plants than she did about humans in the lab.

Of course she would be insane. Insane, boring, and an alchemist. Life never really changed in good old Amestris.

Ed took another bite of his omelet and made a face. It tasted even worse as it cooled. He would have to get Lucy to actually write some instructions for him the next time she decided he needed a little help with his shopping, because clearly his intelligence couldn't figure this out without help. At least the tea really had helped with his leg. He was dreading showing up in Mustang's office on Monday, his limp hidden and screaming out loud obvious to everyone that knew him as well as that group did. 

Save face with his limp, lose face by not knowing what a rogue alchemist was actually doing. Her files had confirmed she had no military training and was only known for her botanical research, so at least it wasn't an ex military state alchemist gone rogue. Those were the truly horrifying ones these days.

* * *

It was snowing on Monday morning when Ed limped out of bed and stoked the fire back to a tiny fragment of life. He cursed as he kept the blanket draped around his shoulders, sitting in a chair in front of the stove and waiting for the water to boil. Tea, he just needed his tea, he told himself. And then he would be ready to head in to the office. He was glad that the bus would run in the winter, it would save him the misery of actually walking half way across the city, but the heater in the bus was never up to the cold, and he wanted his tea in his system now.

He grimaced, rubbing at his leg, gently kneading the flesh around his port, and gritted his teeth. He would swear it hurt worse this morning than it had all winter, enough to make him contemplate actually calling in and just spending the day wrapping it with hot pads, but he had work to do. He had a job, a duty, and that couldn't be ignored over a little stiff automail. Plenty of others in the city had automail, more now than before the Promised Day. He could easily wait for the water to boil and the tea to steep.

Fifteen minutes, the packet said. Fifteen minutes, and no sugar and no cream. A stiff cup of coffee was suggested to help chase down the bitter taste. Ed just poured the coffee grains into the cup with the leaves, he didn't have two to use preparing separate mugs. Why waste the time when he was just going to drink them both? 

The kettle screamed and he sighed in relief, pouring the mugful he needed and setting the kettle aside as he began to carefully bank the coal. If he was careful he could make what he had bought on Friday last at least two weeks, even longer if he didn't mind the cold at night. But he had let himself get lazy this weekend, and burned more than he had intended. He'd have to make up for that, he reminded himself. He could spend more time at the office, a few more late nights, and not need the heat when he got home.

He glanced at the clock and sighed. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes until he could only hope the pain began to fade a little. It was Monday morning and he could already tell what kind of shit week it was going to be. The deep, throbbing ache in his leg agreed with him.

* * *

The snow hadn't abated by the time Ed dared to venture forth, his coat tugged close around him. During the summer he cursed it, but right now, at this moment, he was very thankful for the military issue wool. It was much warmer than anything he probably would have wasted money on. The fact that he had finally grown tall enough not to need to have it tailored down for him was also an improvement, but that tiny sliver of dignity he had left refused to allow himself to make a comment about it.

And while the cold bit and thrashed at him, it was the car that was parked outside, the engine idling, that honestly surprised him. No one in this part of town had actual cars, let alone ones as nice as that. But, then again, no one else in this part of town would recognize Jean Havoc at a glance either. So, with a heavy sigh, Ed stomped across the road, snow riding up his pants and chilling his right leg, and knocked on the window carefully.

Havoc, who had seen fit to slip into a doze, much to Ed's dismay, jolted away from the window with a start. He smiled as he saw Ed, and motioned for the younger man to join him in the warmth of the vehicle, not bother to roll down his window. Ed frowned, but nodded. Cars were a luxury afforded to a much higher class of military than he, and he wondered what was up. Obviously things were moving ahead faster than planned if someone had authorized Havoc to show up here with an actual car.

“What did you find,” Ed demanded, dusting off the snow as he pulled himself into the car, biting his lips as he slid into the warmth of the vehicle.

Even his own apartment hadn't been this warm in months. He could kiss whomever decided to actually allow Havoc to come and meet him. 

“Awe Boss, maybe I just missed the pleasure of your company,” Havoc grinned, setting the car into gear and carefully edging onto the street.

The roads were passable, but only the main ones in Central would actually be plowed, and maybe not even those this early in the morning. There were a few alchemists on hand to help clear ice quickly, but it was complicated to use them unless storms had fully shut down the city. Shutting down street by street just to clear it with alchemy made little sense, and would lead to even bigger traffic issues.

“It's six in the morning on a Monday, Havoc,” Ed pointed out, “There is no pleasurable company but a bed. What happened?”

“Hawkeye will brief you,” Havoc said, and Ed noticed that he didn't have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth for once.

Huh. His wife must have finally snapped him out of that disgusting habit. He had to hand it to the woman, to stop something even Hawkeye couldn't cure him of required dedication. From both sides. Someone should find a woman for Breda next, Ed noted, and get him to finally stop snacking constantly. That couldn't be healthy either.

“That bad,” Ed asked, sighing and relaxing into the seat.

He knew he should be tense, his mind going over whatever would cause such an emergency, but he couldn't help but be happy that he didn't have to slog his way to work riding a cold, wet bus for once. Sure, he was grateful for the public transportation system, but could it hurt someone to keep the vehicles running properly once in a while?

“Slow down,” Ed said as he felt the traction give and the tires slide a little.

Havoc huffed, his foot already easing off the accelerator and slowing the car to a crawl. Ed didn't care, he was happier being late and alive rather than smeared across the pavement, coloring the snow like his old coat. Havoc was muttering curses under his breath as the wind picked up, blowing sheets of white across his vision and blotting out the road.

“At this rate we'll have to walk,” Havoc finally spat, and Ed groaned.

He had hoped to avoid that. Especially in this cold, it would play hell on his leg. Even from within the cab he could hear the wind hissing, smacking its lips in anticipation of taking a few bites out of his thigh. Damn Hawkeye for delaying this until today, he could have easily just taken care of the entire mess on Friday, or even over the weekend, and then never needed to bother showing up here now. He could still be in bed, letting a hot water bottle ease the ache in his leg as he hid under the blankets. 

“How far away are we anyway,” Ed asked, leaning against the window and eying the tall buildings nervously. 

The blowing snow hid the street signs, and he was lost without any form of landmark to glare at. They hadn't been driving too long, he reminded himself. Maybe fifteen minutes. But at slower speeds. A few miles, maybe? The roads here hadn't been cleared, so at least far enough to not be near any of the government buildings. 

“We'll make it,” Havoc insisted, slowing down even further and leaning forward to stare out the window, “Rebecca'll kill me if this is how I die.”

“I'll kill you if this is how we die!” Ed snapped, still staring out the windows into the dark, snow bound nothingness.

How easy it was to reduce the entire world into a white memory, to wipe it away and clean the slate. If the Promised Day had happened, if Father had pulled it off, there would be no one left to clean away the snow. Frozen tombs come winter, watery graves come summer. A haunted country of the forgotten dead. Just like Xerses.

“Boss,” Havoc interrupted Ed, the younger man blinking at looking away from the drifts that they crept by, “What's with the apartment?”

“The apartment,” Ed asked, confused. 

“Yeah, your apartment.”

“It's an apartment,” Ed answered, still not understanding the question. 

Was Havoc asking why he didn't live in one of the larger houses in a more military area of the city? That was ridiculous, he didn't need that much space. He didn’t have that much stuff, and most of those houses were for families. Even if Al and a herd of cats was living with him those houses would still be overkill.

“You're one block shy of the worst part of town. I'm surprised that building is still even standing,” Havoc sighed, still concentrating more on driving than on Ed and missing the glare that crossed over Ed's face.

“It's cheap and convenient. Better than the dorms.”

“And when Al visits,” Havoc asked with a chuckle, “There's no way you have enough room for two beds in there.”

“Al's too busy to visit,” Ed said slowly, “He's got things going on in Xing. The travel would throw a wrench in that.”

Yeah, that was a good explanation, Ed assured himself. Al was studying in Xing, that was very important. He was probably seeing someone. Hopefully someone good enough for him. Maybe Mei, they got along and she had certainly proven herself in battle standing alongside them. But that damn pet of her was straight out, what kind of person kept something like that?

“He's seeing Mei,” Ed explained, his mouth opening and dumping anything he thought may be believable out, “And it's getting pretty serious, but she's got duties and crap so they haven't been able to come and visit.”

The car shuddered, and Havoc cursed, interrupting Ed's desperate lies. With a slow slide the car drifted sideways, and Havoc pumping the brakes did nothing to stop it. Ed braced himself, shielding his face, and felt the car as it crunched into the snow covered parked car on the road beside them. Havoc sighed, pumping the peddles to no avail. The car was dead in the road.

“Dead,” Ed asked, opening his eyes again slowly.

As far as crashes went, that was fairly uneventful. They were alive, no one was bleeding, and there wasn't even anyone shooting at them. The only issue lay with getting from here to Mustang's office without the car.

“Hawkeye will have to send a tow truck later. Sorry, Boss, but it's on foot from here on out,” Havoc grinned weakly. 

Ed rolled his eyes, but there was no helping it. At least his socks were wool and his boots waterproof, he reassured himself. That, and the offices were heated. Hell, Mustang's office had a fireplace, and that pyro was always willing to lend a light when needed.

“At least it's not Briggs,” Ed shrugged, and Havoc laughed.

* * *

Ed grit his teeth, concentrating on making his metal leg flex, trying not to wobble as he staggered through the snow and the metal tore at his skin, his body screaming at him to stop. But he couldn’t show just how bad it was, he reminded himself. The deep drifts were good at covering up the limp, but Havoc was beginning to catch on as he tried to clear the path in front of Ed with his own steps.

“How-,” Ed groaned as another gust of wind tore through him, his shoulder aching where the metal was still deeply embedded.

“There,” Havoc pointed, and Ed nearly dropped to the ground in relief.

Nearly two hours for what should have been a twenty minute car ride. Two hours with snow and wind reminding Ed every step of the way just how human he was, and just how easy it would be for both him and Havoc to be buried, dead and forgotten, at any moment if they were not careful. Even with the wool of their uniform they were risking death, it would be so easy for the cold to chew, and chew, and chew until they were pale and gone.

Hawkeye had better be there, Ed cursed mentally as Havoc began to shuffle forward and he convinced his leg to support him long enough to follow, because he would be damned if he had gotten this far just to be told to go home. 

“Bastard’s fireplace,” Ed hissed, reminding himself of the golden goal at the end of this hell. At least there would be warmth, even if they were, effectively, snowed in for the time being. 

Ed doubted he would be able to get home for a few days, they certainly wouldn’t be plowing in that direction until the majority of the inner city was taken care of, but it was okay, he had a stash of supplies in his office. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he forgot to head home for a few days while working on a case. 

The steps were what nearly defeated him. After the cold biting at him, and he trying to keep from having to drag his leg, he paused before the steps and realized that he couldn’t lift his leg. The wool of his uniform had protected it from the wet and cold, but it was still seizing. And the pain from where it was tearing at his human skin was draining. Ed just glared, and huffed; to think, after all of this, it was stairs that were mocking him. It was a simple set of stairs that held the possibility of defeating him.

“Boss,” Havoc asked, turning back in confusion.

“Yeah,” Ed grunted, trying to lift his left leg up high enough to shove it onto the step. Where the hell was the railing when he needed it, “I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Havoc said, coming up next to Ed and helping to support him, “I’ve got you.”

Ed glared, but nodded and accepted the help. There was only so far a person could go on their own, after all. He never would have stopped Father without the likes of Havoc helping him. He could trust him to get up a flight of stairs.

“Thanks,” Ed sighed, and then leaned into Havoc as they began to limp slowly upward, Ed’s left leg dragging slowly in the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I am so, so sorry that I put this on the side burner for so long. I honestly didn't mean to, but then papers came due, and I moved half way across the world as well (I actually do mean that literally, not figuratively). But this chapter is up, I'm part way through the next already, and I'll be, hopefully, having weekly updates from now on.
> 
> Well, weekly updates for the time being. I make no promises when papers come due at the end of the semester, but I should be able to juggle some shorter chapters then, or, hopefully, have written a few forward to keep from breaking the schedule.


	4. Chapter 4

The hallways leading toward the Bastard’s office was empty, most people sane enough to have decided to stay home in light of the storm. Ed was honestly surprised that the city still had power at all, though, given how many back up systems HQ most likely had, it may not. But HQ needed the lights on, even if only two people walked down across the carpet over the coarse of the day.

Ed had given up trying to hide his limp, but had brushed Havoc off when he had offered his arm. He may have needed help up the stairs, but, even with his leg, he could at least walk straight. He did regret not having a cane stashed away somewhere, though, as it would have helped keep weight off of his port, which was causing most of the issue. 

A numb mechanical part he could deal with, but the pair from freezing metal on most likely frost bitten skin was excruciating. He desperately hoped that, even if Mustang hadn’t made it in, and given how useless the man was when it was wet to begin with he doubted, there was at least some matches around for the fireplace. He needed the heat, and there was no way he was going anywhere any time soon to look for it.

“Hawkeye was here before you left,” Ed asked, grunting as his leg jarred the port once more.

“Yeah, and she managed to haul Mustang in too,” Havoc grinned.

Ed snorted, but nodded. At least this day wouldn’t be a waste, then. Hell, maybe he could get the Bastard to melt a path to Investigations so he could get to his office. As long as the boiler was still working his office would be a cozy place to crash for the night. He probably even had some rations squared away somewhere for emergencies, though, if not, it’s not like others didn’t. Searching desks was practically in the job description.

The doors to Mustang’s offices swung open easily, and Ed could see the flickering of firelight from beneath the door to his private office. No doubt that he and Hawkeye were relaxing in there. Or, well, relaxing for them.

“Ten cenz that Hawkeye has him doing paperwork,” Ed snarked, limping toward the door, practically being able to feel the heat beyond.

“Not even worth the money,” Havoc laughed, marching forward and knocking politely.

Ed lifted his eyebrow in amusement, but waited. It was never wise to surprise someone with a trigger finger as light as Hawkeye’s after all. It was a wonder his younger self had managed to survive unscathed after all the dumb shit he pulled in the office.

“Come in,” Hawkeye called out, and both Ed and Havoc happily complied.

* * *

The heat was everything out of Ed’s fondest dreams. The fire licked casually at the logs that were always stacked in that magnificent fireplace, and Ed wilted before catching himself and straightening, his leg screaming at him as it was jostled.

Having automail ports go numb in the cold was a pain, but the true torture would come when both flesh and metal would thaw and the nerves would be able to send signals back to his brain, Ed knew. He wasn’t looking forward to the experience.

“How bad are the roads,” Hawkeye asked, frowning at their state; covered in melting snow was generally not considered an acceptable way to present oneself in her book, but she was also aware of the weather conditions.

“Unpassable,” Havoc sighed, “Unless the storm breaks we’re stuck in here for a while.”

Hawkeye frowned, but nodded, motioning them both toward the couch in front of the fireplace.

Ed gritted his teeth as he shifted his left leg, and Havoc sighed and offered his arm. Weakness or not, Ed didn’t want to fall on his face trying to save some sad little remnant of his pride.

“Full Metal,” Mustang’s voice was almost teasing from behind is desk where he was, indeed, sifting through a mound of paperwork Hawkeye had managed to find for him.

“Not Full Metal anymore, bastard,” Ed snapped, sighing as he sank into the couch cushions, letting the heat from the fire lap at him as his port began to thaw and his body really began to scream.

He made a mental note to start carrying pain killers on his person if shit like this was going to keep happening to him.

The fire crackled and echoed in the silence as Havoc and Hawkeye waited for one of the two men to explode at each other. Ed was content to simply sit there and bask in the heat, but he could nearly feel the shifting in the air as Mustang rose out of his chair. It was his fault, really, Ed mentally sighed, there was no need to have called him a bastard to his face. He was a superior officer, and Ed was old enough to know better by now.

But old habits had a way of digging themselves out of deep graves at times.

“This is your fault, you know,” Ed groaned, gritting his teeth against the throbbing flesh as it began to thaw.

He would have to check for frostbite later. It wouldn’t do to have to amputate what was left because he let gangrene set in. 

“You need to keep a closer eye on your alchemists,” Ed finally explained, leaning his head back to glare at Mustang.

“Do you have any proof,” Mustang demanded, snapping his fingers and letting the fire rise higher on the grate.

Ed raised an eyebrow, and Hawkeye just shook her head and retrieved a neat stack of folders from the desk. Most likely a stack that Mustang had also been purposefully avoiding.

“Yeah, DuMont has another lab,” Ed said, motioning at his briefcase, which was propped against the inner door, getting the wall wet and looking even more miserable than Ed himself did, “Old warehouse district.”

“Any defenses,” Havoc asked, sitting up straighter as he began to realize the seriousness of the situation.

“Don’t know, but I doubt it,” Ed sighed nodding his thanks as Hawkeye handed him his briefcase and he began to fish his own paperwork out of it, “That’s not her strength, and I doubt she’s working with any other alchemists. Most likely it’s just the same experiments we have on record, but the trail of failures that led up to the current successes.”

He handed up several folders to Hawkeye, who exchanged them with several of her own.

Ah, he thought, as he began flipping through them, junior level alchemists who had trained or worked in her lab. Definitely useful information that he was kicking himself for not thinking of earlier. Even he had needed Al to do all of his research; DuMont may have just been a bit of a nut on her own, but, if others were involved there was no telling what could be going on down in that secret lab of hers.

“We have a lab assessment scheduled for Wednesday, weather permitting,” Hawkeye said, glancing up at Mustang, “Without you, sir.”

“Hawkeye,” Mustang snapped, “You know as well as I do -”

“I know that if the right hand alchemist of the Fuhrer shows up for a simple, routine lab inspection, sir, that it will set off every alarm bell she has. Ed can tell us if there’s a need for you to become involved later, more discretely.”

Mustang was glaring, and several pieces of wood in the fireplace began to snap and scream under the pressure. Ed was not impressed. He had always thought that Mustang had had more control than this; fire was normally a delicate alchemy. But, then again, delicate had never summed up Mustang well at all.

“We just need to see her lab, Mustang,” Ed sighed, the tension in the room not helping his growing headache, “We’re only here to square away details of searching the secondary lab. It’s nothing we haven’t done a thousand times before.”

“You don’t have your alchemy, Full Metal,” Mustang spat, glaring up at Hawkeye.

Ed raised and eyebrow and shot Havoc a questioning look. Sure, he could understand the Bastard being pissed at him, he had always been pissed at him, but clearly there was something more going on given the way that he and Hawkeye were shooting daggers at one another.

And why had Hawkeye dragged Mustang here anyway? He didn’t need to know what was going on; if they needed to go in with an alchemist they could get him involved at a later date. Hell, given the weather, the bastard could easily be excused to lay in bed all day and avoid work like all the other sane people during a storm like this.

“I still have my brain, unlike you,” Ed replied coolly, glaring at the taller man. 

Most alchemical traps were easy to spot, and, unlike his and Al’s had ever been, they would be drawn in chalk. Maybe a few carved here and there, but nothing that couldn’t easily be bypassed. He may not have alchemy anymore, but he still had the knowledge.

“You can’t even walk right now,” Mustang pointed out.

Ed growled, going to stand just to prove him wrong, and then collapsing back onto the couch with a wince. Mustang was right; right now he was useless. But, right now, he was also recovering from walking through a snow storm. He did not expect the same thing for Wednesday. Hopefully.

“I think perhaps you should go now, sir,” Hawkeye said very carefully, her hands where everyone could see them, her eyes focused on Mustang.

Havoc swallowed, and Ed froze. Hawkeye may not have her father’s alchemy, but she was much, much scarier than Mustang had ever been. 

Mustang opened his mouth, paused, and then turned and stormed out of the office. The room was silent as the echoes of doors slamming and boots stomping followed him out of the building.

“So,” Havoc sighed, “That went well.”

“That went the complete opposite of well,” Ed corrected, staring at the fire as mind tumbled over the incident, “Why did he even need to be here, Hawkeye?”

“Paperwork,” Hawkeye sighed, sitting on the couch next to Ed, “We needed his permission to inspect the lab, and to get permission to search the second lab.”

“That’s it,” Ed asked, surprised. Surely she could have just handed him that paperwork earlier in the week if that’s all that they needed.

“No,” Hawkeye sighed, “He needed to verify the information. You two were late for that part.”

Havoc snorted, and Ed just shrugged.

Agreeable weather was generally not something to set one’s clock by these days. Whatever Father had done when he had opened the Gate had screwed with nature, and it was still recovering. Al had theorized that it would be recovering for generations, and that they had never actually seen the natural weather of Amestris because of how much damage Father’s alchemy had been doing since he had come to Amestris in the first place.

“So,” Ed finally broke the silence, “What is the plan?”

“We raid the secondary lab at eight am Tuesday morning.”

“Before we do the primary lab inspection, I like it,” Ed hummed, letting his brain go everything, “Did you pull blueprints?”

“Yes, but they’re only the originals. Underground, insulated for cooling. If she’s done anything to the building the city inspector is unaware.”

“Coffee,” Havoc asked, rising and stretching as Ed and Hawkeye began to pass each other paperwork.

“Black,” Hawkeye said, handing Ed another stack of folders for him to peruse.

“Sugar and cream if you can find it,” Ed said, waving the blond man off.

Havoc snorted and closed the door quietly as he searched for coffee and food. Headquarters may be on skeletal crew because of the weather, but that always meant that the mess was at least brewing something. And, hopefully, Havoc thought to himself as he wondered what sort of insane plan the two he had left behind would have plotted for them, it would at least be real coffee instead of the artificial stuff that sometimes showed up.

* * *

“Ed,” Hawkeye said, placing one of the folders containing information about one of DuMort’s recent lab assistants in her lab, “Can you do this?”

Ed glared at her, “Just because I don’t have alchemy anymore doesn’t mean that-”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hawkeye sighed, cutting him off, “I mean physically. I don’t doubt your brain, Ed, but you can’t even walk right now, and I’ve seen you limping before.”

Ed opened his mouth to snap at her, and then paused. She was right. While mentally he was all there, physically he had not been on a mission like this since, well, Promised Day. He kept in shape, but nothing to the extent he had when he was younger. If Teacher saw him now she would be ashamed.

“It’s the cold,” Ed finally explained, “My current automail isn’t rated for snow hikes, but the metal in my shoulder doesn’t sit well with the cold either. I need to be in the lead to defuse traps, but you and Havoc are going to need to guard my front and back. I’m handy with my knives, but I can’t put too much pressure on my leg in this weather.”

Hawkeye thought about it, and then nodded. It would be a risk taking him into the field, but she also knew that he would be the best to take into the field. 

“Alright,” Hawkeye finally agreed, “Duck when told.”

“Won’t have to tell me twice,” Ed agreed.

Getting his head shot off was not his idea of proving that he was still good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to get this uploaded earlier, but life has been full of papers this week. And full of being assigned research papers as well. I'll be so happy once I graduate.


	5. Chapter 5

Ed shivered as he sat against the wall of a little used warehouse, Havoc next to him, his fingers twitching for a smoke that he didn’t have, as Hawkeye gazed carefully out of the single clean smudge of window, waiting for DuMont to leave her secondary lab. It was still below freezing, but the city maintenance had managed to clear out the streets by Wednesday. Hawkeye had rescheduled the planned lab inspection for Monday with no issue, a snow storm shutting down the city without warning was an easy excuse for what was termed a non vital inspection, and here they were at seven on a Thursday morning, waiting for DuMont to leave her hidden lab so they could make sure she wasn’t trying to kill them all.

Or plotting with a group of people to kill them all.

Ed sighed, grateful for the wool and the thin protection the walls provided against the wind, but wishing he could be up and moving. Sitting like this was no way to keep warm, and his joints were already beginning to ache. He checked his pockets for the umpteenth time to make sure he had a rag, a bottle of water stored in the inside pocket to keep from freezing, multiple sticks of chalk, and his knives. Unless she had embedded any sigals directly into the cement foundation of the building, he should be able to neutralize everything. He had worried about being able to reset any of the alarms or traps they discovered, but Hawkeye had merely pointed out that, the instant they had incriminating evidence, DuMont would be arrested and the lab swarmed by others anyway. 

To be honest, Ed was fairly sure DuMont was going to be in for one hell of a surprise no matter given that secondary research labs on this scale were cause enough for charges to begin with, no matter the contents. Unless she was doing something non alchemy related. In that case, well, Ed actually rather did hope they did find a giant dildo smuggling ring, if only to see the expression on Hawkeye’s face when they found black rubber dicks instead of anything actually dangerous.

“She’s leaving now,” Hawkeye whispered down to the both of them, tracking the rogue alchemist as she left the secondary lab.

Ed nodded and tensed. He knew the drill. They would wait for at least twenty minutes, half an hour to be safe, and then Havoc would check physically to make sure the coast was clear. After that Ed would take point and disable all alchemical traps, as well as physical locks, and let them into the lab. 

“Here’s to hoping there’s heat in there,” Ed groaned quietly, leaning back against the wall to start counting down the time in his head.

* * *

It had been easy enough to enter the front entrance, lock picking had been something that Ed had picked up quite easily back in the day, and the skill had never lost its use. The upper story was fairly empty, covered in dust, with old wooden crates moldering away in the half darkness. A single trail was clearly marked out, many steps over time having cleared the way to the underground stairwell. Ed motioned for Hawkeye and Havoc to pause, and crouched, checking the path carefully, his fingers itching to be able to just send out a spark to search out any stray alchemy.

Ed inhaled deeply, centering himself and focusing. It was no good to wish for what could never be, he reminded himself. There was just the physical supplies he had on hand, and his wits. And he, Hawkeye, and Havoc were depending on those same wits to save their lives. He bit his lip, and eyed the dust before finally nodding and standing.

“Stick to the path, but we should be fine. I’ll need a light for the stairwell though, she could have booby trapped the switch.

Hawkeye glared, but nodded, and then continued forward slowly. 

The stairwell, to Ed’s great surprise, was already lit when they carefully opened the door. The air escaping was nearly warm, and blew back up at them, and Ed frowned. Warm air and a sealed door meant that there were careful experiments going on downstairs for sure. Hopefully nothing that was a hazard.

“Is it clear,” Havoc asked carefully, his back to Ed and Hawkeye as he eyed the warehouse. For, though it was empty, he didn’t doubt that someone, or something given their experience with alchemy, could still be hiding somewhere.

“First step is,” Ed said, stepping down carefully, and then glancing up at Hawkeye, “Do you have a mirror?”

Hawkeye nodded, and brought a plain rectangular mirror out of her coat and handed it to Ed. Ed took it, and began checking the front side of the step with it before stepping down, his automail creaking under the awkward position he was forcing it to hold.

Havoc closed the upper door carefully behind them, and the stairwell quickly began to heat and nearly become moist. Ed frowned, glancing down at the final door. DuMont was definitely continuing her plant experiments here given the climate. It was a perfect greenhouse, and it was only the stairwell.

“You talked to Winry about that leg yet,” Havoc asked, his eyes remaining on the upper door as they all took another step down as Ed continued forward.

“No, why,” Ed asked, clearing the stairs faster now and taking another step down.

“Because we shouldn’t be able to hear it creaking,” Hawkeye said, “She’ll have your head if you’re not maintaining it.”

“I’ve been busy,” Ed scowled, “And besides, a little creaking isn’t bad.”

“Ed,” Hawkeye nearly growled, her tone of disapproval very clear.

“It doesn’t go through the use it used to,” Ed sighed, motioning them forward once more, “And besides, she’s busy. A mechanic in town is just as good for a little tune up.”

“Ed,” Hawkeye sighed, and Havoc snickered.

“She’s going to beat you with that wrench of hers until your brain falls out,” Havoc piped up, and Ed just rolled his eyes and stepped down to the final step.

He help up his hand, and Hawkeye stopped as he began to check the door.

“It’s not even locked,” Ed whispered as he slowly opened it.

Moist, warm air met them, and Ed nearly gagged at the scent of dirt and greenery. They had definitely found their extra lab, now they just had to hope there was paperwork they could use for further proof to incriminate her. Though, to be fair, just her plants alone, and Hawkeye’s testimony, would be enough.

“Holy fuck,” Ed gasped as he stepped through the door, not a single trap in sight. 

Row after row of plants the like of which Ed had never seen. There were ears on some plants, and noses on others, and what looked to be actual human arms being grown on others. It was one of the most disturbing and disturbed things he had ever seen.

“Ed,” Havoc said, stepping in and closing the door, “Are those… ears?”

“Is this illegal,” Hawkeye asked carefully.

“The lab is,” Ed answered carefully, “But growing plants shaped like human parts is not. It’s just… weird. But this is the research DuMont has filed already, so it’s above the line. This is just much, much more advanced than any of her reports have stated.”

“How much more advanced,” Hawkeye asked as she walked along the wall, checking down each row in case anyone was hiding.

“Her latest reports stated that she was close to being able to grow a mouse ear that may be able to be grafted to a living mouse.”

“A mouse ear,” Havoc asked nodding to Hawkeye that the rows he had checked were clear as well.

“Human experimentation for on this scale wouldn’t be allowed until after animal experiments were fully successful,” Ed answered, looking over a plant with a green, fully formed human arm. 

He traced the arm carefully, noting that the outer level of imitation dermis didn’t quite feel like skin, but he could see the green veins beneath it just as they would in a human arm. Even the fingernails, though not hard enough, were there, nearly growing, and almost in need of a trim.

As he walked down the row he saw that other arms were not quite green, paling and pinkish, though the texture was still different. Clearly DuMont was a genius if any of these could be successfully grafted to a human and work.

Ed pulled out his pocked knife and pricked the finger of a nearly flesh colored hand, and looked in wonder as a bead of warm, red blood rose to the surface. He was fascinated, he could spend years going over this research and still never cease to be in awe of the magnificence of the science.

“Hey Ed, there are symbols on the pots,” Havoc called out, and Ed nodded to himself.

“Plant alchemy, nothing dangerous,” Ed called back, his fingers gently caressing the plant hand, “Stabilizing moisture in the soil, that sort of thing.”

“There’s another door back here,” Hawkeye called out, and Ed pulled himself away from the plants.

The research. Of course, with a lab this magnificent, DuMont would have to have a place to keep the notes, and a room this moist would not be a great place. Paper went to rot so easy in environments like this. Ed would have to make a note to send copies to Al, he would be fascinated as well. Perhaps Xingian alkehestry could shed even more light on it, and maybe, just maybe, one day he could have an organic leg again.

Ed shook his head and stopped that train of thought immediately, reminding himself what came from wishing impossible wishes in the past. 

Hawkeye gestured at the door as Ed approached, and he nodded and began to carefully inspect it, and the ground around it, for traps. He would have flashed the mirror to check under, but it was an environmentally sealed door, like he suspected. The notes would be inside there, safe from the moisture.

He tried the doorknob, and sighed as it rotated easily. DuMont may have been a genius when it came to plants, but she was clearly an idiot when it came to security. Outside of the lock on the front warehouse door, this place was ripe for the picking.

“We take all of the research today,” Ed said as he opened the door, “We can’t risk her...”

Ed’s voice trailed off as he stared into the room, and Hawkeye cocked her gun in warning.

Slouched in a chair, covered in just a blue sheet, was Roy Mustang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, I know, a cliffhanger, but I will have a chapter up next Tuesday, I promise. Now that I've graduated, and I'm just waiting for my new job to start, I have actual time to write, and time to get ahead on my writing so there won't be any delay once my job does start.


	6. Chapter 6

“Down,” Hawkeye said quietly, and Ed hit the floor, rolling to the side and coming up in a crouch, knives already in his hands.

Hawkeye stepped into the room, side stepping to the left and her gun never wavering as she kept it trained on the sleeping form of Roy Mustang. Havoc turned in the door, leaving Hawkeye to protect the front while he guarded the rear and watched the room full of plants behind them.

If Roy was here already, it could be a trap. Mustang could be in league with DuMont, he could have already tipped her off, and she could be coming at them from behind.

No exit, enemies from all sides. It was the perfect trap. Except that he, Hawkeye, and Havoc had survived much, much worse. Only they had always had Mustang on their side, guarding their backs instead of possibly facing them down.

“It’s not him,” Hawkeye said, her voice cold and even, but Ed nodded as he stood.

He may have been without his alchemy, but his old teacher wouldn’t have ever let him use that as an excuse. Knives were just as sharp as any other blade in a close fight. Unless there was fire. If there was fire, the only thing they would be able to do was turn and run, and Hawkeye knew it. Hawkeye, especially, knew just how fast how bad this situation could go.

“He has gloves on,” Ed whispered.

And that was the issue. If this was a look alike, then there was nothing to fear. But if this was Mustang, the real Mustang, unless Hawkeye could manage a head shot first, they were going to burn. It was going to make what he went through in the Gate look like nothing. Their deaths were going to be very, very bad unless they played this carefully.

“Could he be kidnapped,” Havoc asked, his back to the room as he continued to guard their rear.

“One way to find out,” Ed said, and the motioned to Hawkeye.

Best to warn the woman who would have his back as he did something that could become monumentally stupid and probably get them all killed. Hawkeye nodded to him, and Ed took a step forward.

“Oi, Bastard!”

Mustang’s eyes snapped open, and Ed took a quick step forward as the naked man threw off the bed sheet and leapt to his feet, his fingers poised to snap. Ed grit his teeth and flashed out with his knife. Keep him from being able to snap was the goal here. That’s all that mattered.

“Stand down, sir,” Hawkeye commanded, her gun never wavering from Mustang’s form.

Mustang ignored her, his fingers snapping as Ed dove forward, twisting his knife to cut the back of the glove before he could use his famous fire alchemy. Unfortunately, it was just seconds too late, and sparks flew and began to explode into fire, tracing across the left side of Ed’s face and racing back toward Hawkeye, and catching the bookshelf of notes at the end.

“Fuck,” Ed yelped, diving and thrusting upward with his knife as he rolled away from Mustang.

Hawkeye fired three shots, quickly and on target, and Mustang fell dead, three quarters of his head a messy pile of blood and pulp. Ed swallowed, and then looked up, horror ringing on his face as he saw the bookshelf, and the room of plants, beginning to go up in flames. Everything they needed as evidence, everything that could prove anything about what DuMont was doing, was quickly going up in flames. He had to stop it.

Old instinct alone had him clapping his hands together, willing the alchemy to smother the fire, but it was no success. He growled, even as Hawkeye called his name, her arm pulled over the bottom of her face to block the smoke, and then ran toward the bookcase, grabbing toward the texts with his right hand, trying to save them.

“Ed,” Hawkeye called, grabbing him by the shoulder as he managed to grab two texts from the middle shelf, “Come on.”

“The texts,” Ed gasped, breathing in a mouthful of smoke and beginning to cough.

“Leave them,” Hawkeye growled, pulling him toward the door.

The entire building must have caught for the smoke to be this thick, Ed thought to himself, following Hawkeye’s lead, Havoc taking up the front, his gun at ready, and clutching the still smoldering books to his chest. All of this, Ed cursed, a miracle of alchemy, and now it was gone, destroyed.

That couldn’t have been the real Mustang, Ed insisted to himself, the real Mustang wouldn’t have gone down so easily.

* * *

A quick scrub with the water from Ed’s flask had cleaned their faces enough to not attract attention as the three gathered in Ed’s office, the only place where Ed knew there would be no prying ears, or eyes, to wonder what had happened to the three of them. With Mustang possibly being in the mix, they had to start taking precautions.

“It wasn’t him,” Hawkeye growled, stopping and glaring at Ed as he stifled another cough and gently placed the two notebooks he had saved on his desk. They were more tomes than notebooks, considering their weight, but the handwritten detail of DuMont’s experiments still relegated the title.

“Facts, Hawkeye,” Ed snapped, “Give me facts to work with.”

Havoc sighed, leaning against the door and slumping, his fingers playing idly with the cuffs of his jacket. Probably dying for a smoke, Ed grimaced, his chest tightening as he resisted the urge to begin coughing again.

“He didn’t have any scars,” Hawkeye sighed, looking around at the well organized chaos that Ed called his office, “A person can heal, but not like that. Especially not from injuries like Lust’s.”

Ed nodded to himself, opening the first book. It made sense. And Mustang wasn’t so vain that he would give in to being experimented on with illegal alchemy just to hide a few war wounds. The man had issues, but not ones that could be so easily taken advantage of.

“Fuck,” Ed growled, staring at the writing.

“What,” Havoc asked, looking over the desk toward the book as well.

“It’s in code,” Ed sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Of course it was in code. All alchemists used code. He had used code. And DuMont, the crazy bitch that she obviously was, would have been taught that as well.

Protect the alchemy. A stupid, outdated sentiment that was, for all that it was annoying, necessary. So many alchemists had discovered so much that could never, and should never, fall into the hands of others, or ever be used. Marco’s journals alone were better off as a recipe book rather than notes on human transmutation.

It would take ages to crack this, especially without Al’s help. Al had always been the one that was better at this, the follow up work. Ed, he groaned, was only better at execution. And with no way to try to process anything physically, he would need to be able to research without calling attention to himself.

“If it wasn’t Mustang, then how could he do alchemy,” Havoc asked, and Ed’s eyes snapped open, “I thought those things couldn’t do alchemy.”

“Homunculus. They can’t, but I don’t know what DuMont was cooking up in her lab. Growing,” Ed growled, sitting up straight and flexing his fingers, “But it, he, wasn’t a human transmutation. He was natural, and organic. Maybe that’s how it works. I just don’t know how he knows Mustang’s alchemy.”

“We have to kill them and end this,” Hawkeye snapped, her face going pale.

Mustang’s alchemy belonged only to Mustang, and her father, Ed remembered. And Mustang refused to teach it to anyone, letting it die with him. Which means that DuMont had either gotten a hold of Hawkeye’s old notes, or developed a form herself. A form that she could teach to perfect doppelgangers. An entire army of Mustangs at her bidding.

“So is Mustang our Mustang or hers,” Ed asked.

“Ours,” Hawkeye snapped, “He would have warned her if he were hers. We have to make sure he stays ours though.”

“Double blind,” Ed replied, “He did warn her, that’s why a Mustang was there. To stop us.”

Havoc swallowed, and the boiler clanked away in the silence as Hawkeye’s eyes went wide. It did make sense. No traps on the way in because Mustang was already there, set to kill them, and then destroy the evidence once they were inside. DuMont had no practical field experience, she couldn’t know that her Mustang wouldn’t be able to stand up against the three of them. Or, perhaps, she thought Hawkeye wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger, too surprised or emotional. DuMont had underestimated them, and that could be the key to her downfall.

But now they had a Mustang that was a live grenade. Was he hers? Was he theirs? They couldn’t just ask him, he could warn her if he got suspicious. They needed eyes on him, that they could trust, at all times. Just the three of them. Any more and DuMont could be warned, and could escape. She could go underground in some little village and grow an entire army with ease.

“You need to stay with him,” Ed said, breaking the silence, “Watch him,”

“That won’t work,” Hawkeye sighed, shaking her head, “It would make him suspicious, and it didn’t work out the first time.”

“So, lie,” Ed snapped, “We can’t have DuMont getting her hands on the real him!”

“Ed, me changing that quickly would make him suspicious,” Hawkeye pointed out, her eyes tightening as Ed hacked and coughed into the sleeve of his jacket, “But you...”

“No,” Ed rasped, shaking his head, “We need someone he won’t ditch for the night, that’s when she’ll grab him. Or he'll see her.”

“Ed,” Hawkeye smiled, “He won’t ditch you.”

“What, and I’m supposed to just suddenly turn into a chick,” Ed demanded, trying not to think of the long braid that trailed down his back, “It has to be you!”

“Or,” Havoc interrupted, “I have a better plan.”

Hawkeye’s eyebrow rose as she gestured at him, Ed crossing his arms as he glared at the two of them. He knew he wouldn’t like what he heard, but he also knew that, for all that Havoc came off as a joke, he was damn good at his job. Ed would just hate what he heard from him, that’s all.

“We can say that Ed’s sick, and his apartment is condemned. Explains the coughing, and Mustang’ll let him crash for a little while. Ed can keep an eye on him after hours, Hawkeye during the day. Round the clock guards, and he has that library,” Havoc explained, motioning at the books sitting on Ed’s desk while Ed grit back another round of coughs.

He must have inhaled more smoke than he thought. Lucy probably had something that would help with the cough. And some more of that tea, the weather was taking a turn toward snow once more. He’d have to remember to stop buy and grab some before he was whisked off to under cover guard duty.

“My apartment isn’t condemned,” Ed spat at Havoc, glowering at the taller man.

“It should be, and a call to any building inspector will make sure of it,” Havoc snapped back, “He lives in those crap, multi story shanties out past the edge of the city. A stiff wind and they’ll all topple," Havoc turned, explaining to Hawkeye. 

Hawkeye nodded, mulling the plan over in her head, and Ed rolled his eyes and threw his hands up.

“Fine, insult my apartment, but he’s never going to believe that I’m sick. A cough and a stiff leg aren’t exactly deadly ailments.”

“Which is why we’re taking you to medical to be diagnosed with pneumonia,” Hawkeye said, her glare reminding Ed not to argue, “Mandated rest. You can use Mustang’s alchemy library while he’s at work.”

“Except Mustang doesn’t like me,” Ed reminded them both, “Maybe he wouldn’t throw me onto the street to rot, but he’s not going to put me up in his house.”

“You’ll learn, Ed,” Hawkeye smiled, grabbing Ed by the shoulder and leading him toward medical with Havoc in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update a week, I'm keeping to schedule! I now officially have my Japanese work visa, and will be moving across the globe in a month, so I may miss an update, or it may be delayed a few days, some time in March. It depends on when I can get internet set up in my new apartment.
> 
> It's so weird to think that I started this fic while living in Japan, moved back to the US, and now I'm moving back to Japan again. There must be a revolving door at the airport with my name on it by now after all of this.


	7. Chapter 7

Ed shivered in the cold of the room as he buttoned up his shirt and reached for his jacket. He stared at the ash and soot that dirtied the blue wool, and scraped at it with his finger, but only managed to smudge it further. The left arm, too, was singed and would need to be repaired. He frowned, the sigals needed to remove the ash and soot, and repair the wool, flashing through his mind. But he would have to do it the old fashioned way, although, given how bad the scorches were it may just be a lost cause and need to be replaced. Given that the burns that had run up his left arm, that could be the case.

“Give up,” the doctor said, walking back into the room, motioning at the jacket in Ed’s hands, “Just replace it, I’m sure they have a few spare with your name on it.”

Ed frowned, annoyed at the fact that he needed to replace what was mostly a perfectly good wool jacket, but letting it go with a sigh. The doctor was right, there was no seaming burns in cloth, and patches were against uniform policy. He was just thankful that he hadn’t been running through his uniform stipend, so there were probably a few jackets side marked for him, just in case.

“Clean bill of health,” Ed asked, smothering another cough and cursing himself for being so stupid as to inhale so much smoke.

The doctor glared at him, and sat down in a chair, holding the file that was alarmingly large in his hands.

“You inhaled smoke,” the doctor started, and Ed just rolled his eyes.

He may have not studied medicine, but even he knew that he was suffering from smoke inhalation and that it wasn’t exactly the greatest thing in the world.

“It’s aggravating your bronchitis,” the doctor continued, “You have first and second degree burns, you’re malnourished, at least ten pounds underweight, you have a damaged automail port, and you’re damn lucky that the rest of your damn leg hasn’t rot and fallen off!”

Ed cringed. He honestly hadn’t known about the bronchitis, he hadn’t been coughing and had felt fine before the mission, and he knew he should have been taking care of his leg better. But the cold always settled badly on automail ports, he had kept the skin as warm as possible to try to prevent any long term damage. 

“Sorry,” Ed mumbled, unsure of what, exactly, he should be saying. There really wasn’t a defense against his condition, Ed certainly wasn’t ignorant about his downward spiral. He just hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten.

The doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair, and just shook his head.

“Not like you haven’t had worse. You have three volumes of medical files in storage, but this is the first time you’ve been in in years. Hawkeye your commander?”

“What,” Ed asked, confused, “No.”

“I have to tell your commander, medical leave for rest and recovery. A few more solid thumps and I would be surprised if you didn’t just go to pieces.” 

“Acting commander,” Ed spoke up, realizing that, technically, Hawkeye had been his commander for their little under cover operation. It wasn’t like she wasn’t high enough to just glare at Investigations and tell them to shove it if they complained.

“Good. She’ll have you taken care of,” the doctor smiled, rising to his feet and leaving the room.

He actually had an honest medical leave, Ed realized. Hawkeye was going to kill him.

* * *

Hawkeye didn’t kill him, Ed was glad to see as he met up with her outside of the examination room, his burnt jacket still in his hands. But, then again, she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the news either, judging from her frown. Ed realized, very suddenly, that a few bullet holes in his hide would just add a touch of power to her claim that Ed needed to hole up somewhere safe while he recovered, and Hawkeye could easily not kill him with a few shots.

“Hey, Hawkeye,” Ed greeted, his voice rough and grating.

How were they going to explain his burns again? Bronchitis, a nice step away from the pneumonia they were going to claim he had, didn’t exactly leave burns. And, if there was anyone that was an expert on burned skin, it was Mustang.

“Your office,” Hawkeye replied harshly, and Ed sighed and nodded, and followed her out of medical, the doctor’s notes and his medication in Hawkeye’s custody.

He was just grateful that Al wasn’t here. An angry Hawkeye was one thing, but Al was the biggest mother hen he had ever met, and he would happily not deal with those puppy dog eyes and stern lectures. Especially given that Al would probably support Hawkeye shooting him once or twice, just to remind him to take better care of himself.

“Can I pick up a new jacket first,” Ed finally spoke up, lifting his to remind Hawkeye of the fire damage.

“And a new shirt,” Hawkeye replied crisply, and Ed looked down with his and then frowned when he remembered that the flames had gone through the jacket to the skin, damaging his shirt along the way.

Mustang must have been lucky to not walk around naked while he was learning his alchemy. Maybe that was why the Mustang in the lab had been naked; better to just let your newly grown army develop burns than have to replace ten army’s worth of clothes during training. Or a hundred.

* * *

Havoc’s eyebrow rose as Ed closed the door to his office behind him, Hawkeye still simmering with barely contained anger. Ed just shook his head at him, he would hear it all soon enough.

“Bronchitis,” Hawkeye began, and Ed raised his hands in self defense.

“I didn’t know. You know I’m not stupid to run around with something like that and not get it treated!”

“Malnutrition, under weight, and port damage!” Hawkeye snapped back, slamming Ed’s medical files down on Ed’s desk, glaring at him.

Havoc’s second eyebrow rose to join the first, before they fell into a glare, and Ed just sighed. There would be no fighting this, not with facts on Hawkeye’s side. He knew it looked bad, but that wasn’t the point. A little winter malnutrition and some port damage were to be expected, especially when he couldn’t cook to save his damn life. Al would just be so damn disappointed in him though, and that’s what stung the worse. He hoped Al was spending his money wisely, and not sick or suffering.

“At least at Mustang’s I know he’ll watch you,” Hawkeye said, her voice low and cold, “Because you certainly seem to need it.”

“Not fair,” Ed roared, his voice choking off into a hacking fit that left him breathless, “I’ve been busy because someone’s office isn’t look after their alchemists! And now one of them is trying to overthrow the damn government!”

“You’re living with Mustang until you get a clean bill of health,” Hawkeye replied.

“Fine, whatever,” Ed waved his hands, knowing he couldn’t fight this any longer, “Just let me grab some stuff from my place first.”

Havoc cleared his throat sheepishly and fretted with the hem of his cuff.

“What did you do now?” Ed asked, wondering how this day could get worse.

“Not me,” Havoc replied defensively, “But there was a fire out near your place...”

“What!?” Ed snapped, staring at the blond man.

“I told you it was a shit hole, Ed,” Havoc finally said, “The entire block is gone.”

Ed slumped against the door. At least this would explain the burns, and the smoke inhalation. His only regret was that a few of his precious books had been there, and his precious tea. He’d have to swing by Lucy’s shop and pick some more up. Hell, now that he was officially on medical leave and technically on an under cover mission he could start drinking it three times a day just to deal with the boredom that was going to come from trying to crack DuMont’s notes. 

“Guess that settles that, then,” Ed finally said, looking up. 

Now he really did need to crash somewhere while he looked for a new place to live. There would be down payments needed, and new furniture. He hated moving in the first place, but to lose everything was even worse.

“I’m sorry Ed,” Hawkeye apologized.

“No big deal,” Ed waved his hand, straightening his back and pulling himself up, “Havoc was right, it was a shit hole. So, how do we convince Mustang to take me in like a stray? Because he could just as easily point me towards the dorms, there are always a few rooms open there.”

“That’s easy,” Hawkeye explained, standing up and picking up Ed’s medical folder, “We simply ask him.”

“What?” Ed demanded, coughing into his elbow as Hawkeye passed, opening the door for her.

“Simply asking usually works, Ed,” Hawkeye replied, continuing to walk down the hallway with Havoc chasing after her, leaving Ed to lock up his office. 

It wouldn’t do to lose both his apartment and his office in the same day.

* * *

The others in the front office stopped what they were working on as Hawkeye marched in, followed closely by Havoc and Ed. While Hawkeye and Havoc had managed to clean their faces, only Ed had managed to change his clothes, and the soot and smoke was obvious on both Hawkeye and Havoc’s jackets. 

“Back to work, those reports are due today,” Hawkeye snapped before opening the door to Mustang’s office and ushering them in.

Ed gulped. This is where their plan could all go wrong. This Mustang could already be a replacement. They could be walking into a trap, and end up really burning to death soon enough. Or DuMont could capture them and replace them; if she could grow an alchemy wielding Mustang than it would be nothing to replace all of them eventually. Although they had only seen the faux Mustang in physical action, there was no telling how developed they were on an intellectual level. That could be one of the identifying signs, though ‘lazy bastard’ was relatively easy to pull off, so perhaps not in Mustang’s place.

“Sir,” Hawkeye saluted, drawing Mustang’s attention away from the paperwork he was actually going over, “Sit on the couch.”

“I’m fine,” Ed growled, stifling the hacking cough he could feel clawing itself up his throat.

Havoc rolled his eyes and just pushed the shorter man toward the couch as Mustang frowned at all three of them. 

“Ed is on medical leave and is need of a place to stay for the next few weeks,” Hawkeye explained, and Mustang’s frown deepened. 

“It’s not that bad,” Ed snapped, coughing into his elbow and missing the worried glances from the others in the room. He had forgotten that a hacking cough could sound like death to everyone but the cougher.

“Ed,” Hawkeye sighed, turning back to Mustang, “His illness was aggravated by smoke inhalation, his apartment burned down earlier this morning.”

That sounded bad, Ed thought to himself, wincing at the thought of all his lovely books up in flames. The extra coal he had been saving up, his tea, his cane. He hoped his neighbors had made it out alright, though he didn’t know any of them well enough to even to know any of their names.

“I…,” Mustang stuttered, and then leaned back in the chair, thinking for a few moments, “I have some spare room.”

“I know,” Hawkeye said, “That’s why you’ll be taking him in as we cannot trust him to care for himself in the dorms.”

“Hey!” Ed yelled, jumping up from the couch, “I’m fine!”

“Ed, you have a doctor’s note stating that you’re on medical leave for at least a month,” Hawkeye reminded him, “You aren’t even eating properly.”

Ed glowered, crossing his arms and turning to stare at the fire. He couldn’t argue against that, but had hoped that Hawkeye wouldn’t bring it up. He had merely spiraled a little, concentrating too much on Al, but it still wasn’t that bad. It was the untreated bronchitis that was the main issue, as soon as he was over that he would be in much better shape. He had to be, for Al. Al still needed his money for his studies, and Ed wouldn’t let him down.

“Ed,” Havoc sighed, motioning back at his seat on the couch.

“I’m not dying Havoc,” Ed snapped, “It’s just a little bronchitis.”

“And malnutrition, automail port damage, and you’re dangerously underweight,” Hawkeye spoke up, glaring at the shorter man.

“Yeah,” Ed replied, the wind thoroughly flushed from his sails as he collapsed onto the couch, staring at the fire crackling in the fireplace. Several of the flames jumped and popped, and Ed frowned, looking over at Mustang and frowning at the tight expression on his face.

“Okay,” Mustang responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever so sorry that I'm posting this chapter late. I had to drive down to the Japanese consulate to do some necessary visa paperwork, and that's a six hour drive round trip. And I get to do it again next week. I hate driving so much, I'll be so happy to finally be able to just ride a bicycle or use public transportation to get everywhere!


	8. Chapter 8

Ed had expected that Hawkeye would force Mustang to leave the office and shove him, possibly kicking and screaming, into Mustang’s home. Thankfully it had not gone like that, if only because Hawkeye understood how much attention dragging people kicking and screaming into a house of a well known military member could generate. And, possibly, because she understood that the world did not work that way. Mustang could not simply drop work and rush home to care for an ailing colleague, given how lazy the man was Ed was sure he had tried multiple times over the years, and so Ed was to be escorted to Mustang’s home by Havoc and left there to adapt to the transition alone for the afternoon. And snoop, as both Hawkeye and his job demanded.

Thankfully Havoc was easily convinced to make several stops before arriving at Mustang’s dreary abode, Ed thought, glancing at the packages piled next to him in the seat. For all that he had traveled light during his teenage years, that had mostly been because it was easy to clean clothing by using alchemy, or simply create it as needed, given how often his old red jacket had found itself completely destroyed. But now he suffered from the adult need to know that, no matter what the rest of the day dropped on him, he would at least have a clean change of clothes for tomorrow, and enough underwear to last him a week. 

His mother would be very proud of him, he was sure.

“The grocery on the corner, on the right,” Ed said, leaning forward in his seat and gesturing towards Lucy’s small shop.

“Boss, are you sure? I’m sure Mustang can get groceries delivered,” Havoc started, but Ed just shook his head.

“It’s a tea, for automail users. It cuts down,” Ed winced as he realized what he was about to say, but it was the truth, “It cuts down on the pain. Especially in winter.” 

Havoc simply nodded and didn’t press the subject, keeping his eyes on the road as Ed turned to stare out the windows. He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed by it, there were plenty of automail users in Central so it wasn’t anything unusual, but, to him, the automail was more than something that was a part of him. It reminded him, with every throb and ache, what he had done to get it. What sins he had committed, how his brother had suffered and paid for them. The metal, deeply embedded in his shoulder from when he had paid the Gate to retrieve Al, was yet another reminder. He had gotten off easy. His little quest had saved the entire country, possibly the world. 

But it was still there, a painful physical reminder, of everything he had done wrong in his life. How Havoc had suffered, and Mustang, and Hawkeye, and the rest of the country. His father had started it, and Ed’s little apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, it had just been too small and dented to do much damage, thankfully.

Havoc knocked on the window beside Ed’s head, startling him as he looked around and realized that they had parked. True, they were two blocks from Lucy’s shop, but the sidewalks around here had already been cleared, most likely by the local shopkeepers themselves, so it would be no issue walking.

“Sorry,” Ed faked a yawn and stretched as he got out of the car, “It’s been a long day.”

Havoc simply snorted and shook his head. He knew an excuse when he saw one, but he was being kind enough not to press the matter. Ed was grateful, for, while it hadn’t been a long day compared to those in the past, it had not been a good one for Ed.

“Think Mustang has anything to eat at his place,” Ed asked as he stamped the snow off his boots, trying to hide a grimace as his right leg reminded him to be more careful, and stepped into Lucy’s shop.

“Hawkeye said he’d have enough for tonight, at least,” Havoc replied, holding out an arm for Ed to lean on, but Ed just shook hid head.

“Yeah, but is it edible?” Ed smirked, them both knowing that the answer was probably not.

Mustang knew how to burn things, but he certainly didn’t know how to cook them, from the stories that Hawkeye had told back in the day. Ed doubted that Mustang had remedied the situation as he had climbed in rank.

“Eddy,” Lucy shrieked, and Ed was caught by surprise as Lucy swooped him up in a crushing hug, forcing the air from his lungs as she pulled him in tight.

“Lu-,” Ed tried, but was cut off as a round of hacking coughs interrupted him, Lucy putting him down and rubbing his back as he bent over, and then glaring up at Havoc.

“He shouldn’t be out in weather like this, the cold’ll kill him!” Lucy snapped, and then dragged Ed toward the little radiator that tried to heat the shop.

“I’m fine,” Ed insisted, sitting as Lucy’s stern frown, but waving her off, “It’s just a little smoke.”

“I hear the entire complex went up,” Lucy replied, clearly still worried even though Ed was breathing normally again, “You were the only one unaccounted for.”

“I was at work,” Ed explained, “I’m crashing with… someone from work. But I’m fine. I need some automail tea, though.”

“You need a little more than just that,” Lucy sighed, looking Ed over closely, “You need something for that cough, and your color’s no good. They givin’ you time off?” Lucy glared up at Havoc.

“Yes ma’am, at least a month. And don’t worry, he’s staying with some of the brass, so he’ll be fed and kept warm, no issue.”

Lucy’s continued to frown, pursing her lips as she bit her tongue to keep from lecturing Havoc, something that Ed found absolutely hilarious after being the sole target of her lectures for so long, but finally nodded. She looked down at Ed again, and Ed sighed and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to escape from here without a full load of groceries at the minimum now that she knew that someone would watch to make sure he ate.

“Do you have a cookbook,” Ed asked suddenly, “I didn’t have one, and I couldn’t figure out how to make that eggplant edible last week.”

“I should have a few roaming around somewhere,” Lucy thought, “The family you’re staying with doesn’t cook?”

“Bachelor brass,” Ed explained, “He’s probably worse at it than I am. I figure I might as well learn something while I’m there and don’t have anything else to do.”

“Yeah, stay here, I might have some you can borrow upstairs,” Lucy said, quickly ducking up the narrow set of stairs that led to the upstairs apartment, “Tell anyone to wait, and shoot them if they steal!”

Havoc snorted, and looked down at Ed.

“Charming woman,” Havoc finally said as Ed leaned closer to the little radiator.

“Not really, but she keeps me fed and in tea. Second row from the door, in the little green pouches. Dark green, not mint. Grab me four, would ya’,” Ed asked, grinning up at Havoc and playing the cripple.

Havoc nodded, stopping in the aisle as he realized that a good half of the aisle was entirely tea. Row after row, stack after stack, all in different colored little sachets and tied with bows, twine, and just plain wire at times. It was nearly unfathomable.

“Ed,” Havoc called out, searching the shelves and realizing that there were fourteen different dark green wrapped teas.

“Wait for Lucy, she knows which one I need,” Ed chuckled, leaning toward the heat and letting it work through his throbbing thigh muscles.

“Trying to find your tea,” Lucy asked as she walked down the stairs, several books in hand.

“Yeah, I forgot how many you stocked,” Ed replied, taking the books gratefully.

Cooking notes were a great cover for alchemy research, and these would help him hide what he was doing at Mustang’s. Just in case. Because he had been bitten by hidden men in high power far too often in his life. Everyone in the country had.

“The red one is a beginner’s book, it goes over techniques and introductions. The blue one is a baking book, pay attention to the chemistry, it’s important, and the green one is an all around cookbook divided into meal sections,” Lucy smiled, handing the stack of books to Ed, “There are plenty of notes I’ve made in each. Now, let me help your friend before he ends up grabbing coffee.”

“Coffee is good!” Ed called back as Lucy disappeared into the same aisle where Havoc was staring at teas.

“How sick is he,” Lucy asked, quickly grabbing half a dozen packets and handing them over to Havoc, “He needs to eat more.”

“Uhh,” Havoc glanced at the end of the aisle, and then looked at Lucy, “Bronchitis. And malnutrition, and something about his automail.”

Lucy nodded, and then grabbed a handful of lavender sachets and nearly a dozen sky blue ones, and then headed back toward where Ed was slowly flipping through the red cookbook, and then glanced up. Lucy’s frown was enough to strike fear into the heart of any person, but Ed, especially, knew that there was no use running now, he was caught.

“You take tea from the sky blue four times a day, with food, for your malnutrition. Three times a day, at meals, which you will be eating,” Lucy’s voice was going cold, and Ed nodded quickly, “You will take the lavender one for your lungs, and you already know to take the green twice a day, with coffee, for your leg.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ed affirmed quickly, taking the armful of sachets, balancing them on his open cookbook.

“And you will be returning for more on a regular schedule or I will find you, is that understood,” Lucy growled.

“Yes ma’am,” Ed nodded again, clutching his books and tea close to his chest.

“You need food as well,” Lucy declared, grabbing a basket and rushing off between the aisles in the store.

“Mustang has food,” Havoc replied standing next to Ed.

“Havoc,” Ed spoke up, “Never question a grocer.”

Havoc just nodded and groaned as Lucy set the first basket near them, full to the brim with various vegetables that Ed couldn’t begin to identify, and grabbed a second basket and headed toward the meat section. Ed just sighed, and looked at the teas and the vegetables, and at the meats that Lucy was carefully wrapping and stacking. Even if Mustang had nothing but crackers and wine, they would be high dining for at least two weeks with this trip alone.

And the tea, Ed looked down at it, calculating doses in his head, was about two weeks worth, probably. He would have tea coming out of his eyes by the time he was better.

“Charge my account, Lucy,” Ed finally spoke up, nudging the vegetables toward Havoc.

“You’ll need to be back in two weeks,” Lucy reminded him, bagging the vegetables and meat in separate bags, “For the tea. The vegetables should be eaten within the week, and the meats two weeks. More if you make stews and the such,” Ed nodded and Lucy continued, “And I expect you to be doing better in those two weeks.”

“Thanks Lucy,” Ed said, honestly grateful. 

Lucy, and her tea, and her vegetables and meats, and sweet little cookbooks full of hand written notes.

“Feel better Eddy,” Lucy said, resting her hand on Ed’s shoulder.

“Thanks Lucy.”

* * *

Havoc carefully packed the food away in the trunk as Ed slide into the back seat, the teas all held in a single bag, the books under his arm. They had food, they had Ed’s tea, and they had clothes. There was no way to avoid it now, there was nowhere left but to enter the dragon’s den. Would there be evidence anywhere that Mustang had already been replaced? What kind of evidence could there be? The fake Mustang had had red blood, and looked human, but he hadn’t had Mustang’s scars, and hadn’t spoken.

Their Mustang spoke, though. Was speaking the key? Would there be something telling in the blood? In the little details, the ticks that made up the average person? He would have to ask Hawkeye for a complete dossier on Mustang. Every twitch, every reaction. He would need everything, and she would have to go over everything that Mustang had been doing in the office since… Ed had no idea. How long had DuMont been working on this? How long had she been able to create artificial humans?

Ed swallowed hard. They had no idea how far up this could have gone, how many people could be fake or could be real. They couldn’t put eyes on every single person in the government, they couldn’t even know whether or not they had enough people like that to trust to keep eyes on everyone else. They would have to find out if DuMont was working alone, or if there was a larger group that she was working for.

“You okay Boss,” Havoc asked, sliding into the driver’s seat and looking back at Ed.

Outside of Hawkeye and Havoc, who could they really trust? Mustang, if Ed could clear him. But that was it.

“Yeah, Havoc,” Ed nodded, staring down at his cookbooks, and glancing at the bag of DuMont’s notes that he had managed to rescue from her lab, “Yeah, I’m fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter rather feels like Sam, standing at the end of the edge of the Shire. With this chapter this is now nearly the longest fanfiction I have ever written (though, oddly enough, not the longest paper I have ever written by far. That honor goes to a 72 page paper about the advancement of CGI in the film industry), and that's just odd to me. When I first started writing I struggled to get more than a page or two down for an entire story, but now, here I am, with 34 pages and only at the beginning. I've honestly become one of those writers that writes a lot, and it just feels odd to me.
> 
> Hopefully I'll also be able to keep up the update schedule and continue to be one of those writers that also puts up new chapters every week as well. Less than a month before I move, and I don't know how long it may be until I get internet in Japan (I should have it immediately, but I'm honestly not sure.). I actually land on a Tuesday, so I may be updating from Narita airport, which should be awesome! After that, the updates will continue on a weekly schedule as soon as possible. Now that I've gotten to this point, I don't want to leave anyone hanging.
> 
> See you all next week!


	9. Chapter 9

Ed had to admit that he was impressed when Havoc pulled up in front of Mustang’s house. He was expecting something either so grand and gaudy that it would make him cringe just setting eyes on it, or a half burned down bachelor pad with six stripper poles in the front yard. Instead, in the middle of a quiet suburban neighborhood, was just another quiet, suburban house. Two stories, a metal fence around a well kept snowy front yard, and nothing to mark the house as one of the heads of the government outside of the little ‘Mustang’ on the mailbox.

He was actually disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to throw anything at Mustang about his living space outside of ‘so normal it was boring’. Maybe the inside was a trash heap, but he doubted it. Nice little suburban communities like this would have forced Mustang out ages ago if he so much as trimmed the roses wrong. It was the kind of place he hoped Al ended up in one day; enough room for a family and seventeen cats.

“Quaint,” Ed grunted as he got out of the car, glad that the sidewalks were all shoveled and well salted.

Havoc just snorted and gathered the groceries from the trunk, and walked Ed into the house, DuMont’s notes held carefully in his arms.

Ed was merely proud that he managed not to hobble or stop to have a coughing fit on the way in. A personal best for him at this point. Some tea would soon see to that. But, sadly, work called.

“You take the downstairs, I’ll take the upstairs,” Ed said as Havoc placed the grocery bags down on the kitchen table.

The kitchen matched the rest of the house: beautiful, elegant, and cold. There wasn’t a single spark of personality anywhere he had seen yet, simply just enough to prove that a person lived here.

“Stairs,” Havoc pointed out, but Ed shook his head.

“I can handle the stairs, but I need to make sure that nothing gets missed, and that nothing gets noticed after. No offense, but I’m trained for this.”

Havoc snorted, but nodded. It was true, now. The young Ed Havoc had known would have been better off being set out in the snow than be allowed to carefully search a house for evidence of some sort illegal alchemy. But this wasn’t Fullmetal, this was just Ed, who worked in Intelligence. Ed who knew secrets about everyone, and kept them to himself. Ed who knew how to gather secrets about everyone, and use them as weapons.

“Scream if you find any alchemy you shouldn’t,” Ed grinned, taking the stairs carefully one by one.

“Shouldn’t,” Havoc asked warily.

“Mustang likes fire, I’d avoid the fireplace if I were you,” Ed called back, disappearing into a bedroom, and Havoc merely sighed.

“And don’t touch anything around windows or doorways,” Ed paused part way up the stairs to yell back, trying in vain to muffle a coughing fit.

Mustang liked fires and was paranoid about security, most likely, so it would be better to not touch his security system. Ed knew that, if he were Mustang, the system probably wouldn’t be able to be deactivated by anyone but Mustang, which meant lots of fire, and Ed had had enough of that for one day. And one lifetime. 

Havoc didn’t bother to respond, but Ed continued up the stairs knowing that his message had been acknowledged via the simple fact that the building currently wasn’t burning down around them. Havoc may not have known anything about alchemy, but he wasn’t a moron. 

Ed snorted when he finally reached the top of the stairs. Windows on either end, dark wood paneling on the walls, paintings so generic they most likely came with the house when it was sold, and five shut doors with brass knobs. No dust, no dirt, no personality. He gave credit to Mustang for keeping the place so tidy, but it was also rather sad.

The first door on the left was a bathroom. White tile, perfectly clean, three spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet and a tube of generic mint toothpaste, as well as a pack of adhesive bandages. Not even floss. Ed did wonder about the salt caramel wrapper though, he didn’t remember Mustang having a sweet tooth, so it probably belonged to a female friend of his. He knew Winry had always had an obnoxious sweet tooth, and his mother had had a fondness as well.

The second door proved to be equally as fruitless. A spare bedroom; plain sheets, empty dresser and closet, perfectly made bed. Not even dust bunnies hiding in the corners, and the curtains had clean lace. Ed was impressed, lace usually yellowed fairly quickly under sunlight, so either Mustang was an obsessive clean freak, which could be the case given his lack of other hobbies, or he spent a fortune in replacing them for no apparent reason. Mustang’s company slept in his bed, after all.

The third door on the left was a flipped identical match to the right, right down to the matching curtains, and Ed had to roll his eyes. This setup screamed mental issues of some sort. Yes, Mustang worked long hours and was most likely never at home, but to have two plain guest rooms? No one could fake a setup like this. Mustang needed a hobby, not a broom.

The right side of the hallway, Ed sighed, closing the guest room door carefully behind him, was where the real information had to be hidden. One of them had to be the bastard’s bedroom. With an aching grit of his teeth, Ed tried the first door, and sighed. It was his bedroom alright, but barely.

The room was painted a suffocating dark blue, the sheets and blanket nearly the same shade, and the curtains the same dark blackout curtains that could easily turn a room to night. But, outside of a hamper by the foot of the bed, and the clothes in the closet and dresser, it was as cold as the rest of the house. No photos, no notes, just a single book placed on the nightstand, next to an alarm clock. Ed was beginning to see a clearly painted picture, and it was worrisome.

Mustang could easily have been replaced, and no one would have been the wiser. How could anyone notice if everything looked like a bad theater set? Ed swiped his finger across the window sill, and noted the lack of dust. Poor planning on Mustang’s part there, dust was a great way to keep track of comings and goings, as DuMont should have known in her warehouse.

Ed shifted the curtain away from the sill and nodded thoughtfully. While there may have been no dust, that didn’t mean that Mustang hadn’t thought ahead. The little sigals, carved delicately and out of sight, were amazing pieces of work. If anyone was to enter without Mustang’s permission they were going to get one hell of a fiery wake up call, that was for sure.

Ed looked through every drawer, carefully removing and replacing stacks of socks, underwear, shirts, and ties. Did anyone really have so many ties that they needed part of a drawer for one? Who wore that many ties in the first place, and why? But there were no other signs of any sort of foul play. Just clothing, well cleaned and starched, prepared for a days work.

The final door is the one that made Ed sigh in relief. He had feared this entire time that he would have to call Hawkeye and ask what the hell she was getting at, as it was clear that no one really lived here, but Mustang’s office told of other stories. Mountains of paperwork were sliding helplessly onto the floor. An ink bottle had upended itself against the wall at some point, and it was clear that more than one fire had cozily lived in the metal wastebasket. This, Ed decided, was where Roy lived. Happily lived, given the booze not so carefully hidden in one drawer, and the clear scorch marks across the woodwork, and the tumbledown towers of books, of various forms of alchemic theory, mostly fire in origin or design, and political theory tomes. Ed was actually impressed, though he hoped this wasn’t Mustang’s entire library; it was a nice little section of a library, but it would be mostly useless when it came to researching and cracking DuMont’s coded notes.

“Geez, this place is a mess,” Havoc said, startling Ed as he was scanning the paperwork on Mustang’s desk and trying not to shift it.

Most of it was fairly dull and routine, forms about the little details that kept a nation like Amestris running from day to day. Food purchases for the military, tax considerations for various much needed projects, such as road maintenance. Rules about pets in offices. A few memos about separating the alchemy programs from under the military, but, from what Ed could tell from his quick skim, that was still at least several years off, as Amestris was still a military run government in the first place.

“Just the office,” Ed sighed, looking up, “How was downstairs?”

“Clean, the library is well dusted, and there are little symbols carved into every windowsill and outer doorway.”

Ed nodded, and shifted his weight as he hobbled out of the room. That sounded about right. Well cleaned, and well protected. He honestly expected that from the public area of Mustang’s house, he most likely entertained from time to time as expected of his rank, though he could probably get away from shifting that responsibility due to not having a spouse. He probably hired a dinner party service to do all the heavy lifting on those evenings, it wasn’t uncommon in the city and there were a few companies that were extremely well vetted because of that.

“You going to be okay on the stairs, Boss,” Havoc asked with a frown when Ed limped into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Ed waved him off, closing his eyes and leaning back as he left his leg throb, “But put the kettle on, I need some tea.”

“And some food,” Havoc reminded him as he hunted for a water kettle in several cupboards.

Ed frowned and opened his eyes as he watched Havoc continue to hunt for the elusive piece of kitchenware and then rolled his eyes. There probably wasn’t one, Mustang could just heat water with a snap of his fingers, after all.

“Just use a pot with a lid,” Ed finally said, interrupting the elusive search, “Are there even matches?”

No, it turned out, there were not matches. Nor any form of fire starter in the entire house. Mustang and his damn alchemy, Ed cursed internally. This would have to change, because he couldn’t rely on Mustang to be there every time he needed to cook or heat something. Especially a midday tea.

“Call Hawkeye,” Ed finally snapped as he searched around the fireplace for the third time, “And tell her the Bastard doesn’t have any damn-”

“What don’t I have,” Mustang interrupted, the door swinging open allowing both him and Hawkeye into the house, “Maybe you’re just too short to find it?”

“He doesn’t have a kettle or matches,” Ed complained, ignoring Mustang and focusing his attention on Hawkeye, who was carrying two rather large bags of groceries.

“I know,” Hawkeye replied, shifting the bags into Mustang’s arms and closing the door behind them, frowning as Ed began to cough.

“It’s just,” Ed waved her off, “The damn air, it’s dry.”

“Into the kitchen, I brought matches and a kettle, as well as your medicine.”

“Oh joy,” Ed groaned, straightening his left leg and carefully walking after her, his gait still clearly giving away his limp.

Mustang frowned, and Ed ignored him. Let the bastard be pissed that he was having to shift his living arrangements to put up with him, Ed didn’t care. It’s not like he had anything important happening in the house in the first place, judging from the state of it. Unless he had to call and cancel several evenings worth of company, Ed could see him being pissed about that.

Ed was also glad, once they got into the kitchen, that Havoc had made DuMont’s notes disappear from the kitchen table. He would have to ask where they had gotten to later, when Mustang wasn’t in the room. He didn’t want Mustang knowing that he had them, just in case Mustang saw fit that they have a fiery little accident. 

“How much tea do you drink, Fullmetal?” Mustang let out when he saw the pile of tea sachets on the table.

“It’s medicine,” Ed sighed, happily placing himself in what he had come to deem as ‘his’ chair, “Automail has crap side effects in the winter.”

“You really need to contact Winry about that knee,” Havoc piped up, filling the kettle that Hawkeye handed him out of a bag, and lighting the stove with a match she handed over, “You’re not going to be able to use it soon at this rate.”

“I’ll send out a letter tomorrow,” Ed sighed, trying to avoid having to admit that he didn’t know where, exactly, she lived anymore.

Granny would know though, and would forward it on. Probably somewhere in Rush Valley, but she had taken to doing charity work around the country as well, so it really could be anywhere. But, outside of a little tuneup, the leg wasn’t nearly as bad as Havoc was making it out to be. He did need to oil it though, that was true. 

That was also expensive, and not that necessary. Al could use that money far more than his leg could. 

Ed picked up a lavender sachet, a sky blue one, and sniffed them both, and shrugged. They both smelled like dried grass, which meant mixing them was probably fine. They probably didn’t taste any worse mixed, at least, and Ed had gotten used to drinking his evening dose of the green sachet without cream or sugar, and it smelled nearly the same as well.

“Purple for the bronchitis, blue for the malnutrition,” Ed explained, and groaned as Hawkeye handed him three bottles of pills, “All of these too!?”

“Ed,” Hawkeye warned.

“Yes ma’am,” Ed sulked, and carefully counted out pills to go with the tea as Havoc began slicing bread.

Ah, yes, Ed remembered, with food was the requirements for the tea now.

“Have you called Al,” Hawkeye asked, handing Havoc a bag of carrots to chop, “He’ll need to know where to send his letters for at least the next month.”

Oh, Ed carefully schooled his expression, shit, he hadn’t even thought of Al’s letters. Al’s never sent letters. 

“He’ll probably want to come visit,” Havoc pointed out, chewing on a carrot stick.

“I have enough room for him too,” Mustang sighed, removing the whistling kettle from the stove and pouring the water into Ed’s mug, “How much of this at what dosage?”

“Why, going to poison it,” Ed snarked.

“No, I need to make sure you actually take it, as you clearly can’t take of yourself,” Mustang replied, his voice as chill as his glare.

Ed glared back, and Hawkeye placed her hand on Mustang’s shoulder, shaking her head.

“Here Ed,” Havoc placed a vegetable sandwich in front of Ed, “Better than runny eggs, eh?”

“Yeah,” Ed chuckled, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops? I meant to update like three months ago and then... yeah. Oops? Also, with commute taken in, I spend 11.5 hours at work as a teacher. Man working in Japan sucks at times. School lunches here are designed by a nutritionist... and bland as all hell. I had forgotten that about Japanese food when you don't have access to soy sauce of any type.
> 
> But Japan is great, the younger students are obsessed into staring into my eyes (I have green eyes), and love trying to teach me Japanese and make me read story books to them in English. So far Padington Bear has saved England from the Wild Tea Pot Invasion on four separate occasions. England is very proud of him.
> 
> No promises on weekly updates, but I'm going to try to make them a lot more frequent from here on out, if only because writing is a sanity when I get home and am too tired to do anything else.


	10. Chapter 10

“Can you manage up the stairs,” Mustang asked, showing Ed the house after Hawkeye and Havoc had left the two for the night. 

Ed paused halfway up, his automail knee creaking dangerously and his hand going white, clenching the banister.

“I’ll be fine,” Ed hissed, carefully controlling his breathing.

Mustang glared at Ed, letting the moment stretch uncomfortably before he turned and continued to climb the stairs. Ed followed more slowly, gritting his teeth and refusing the acknowledge the burning ache that was working its way through the port of his right leg, or the tiny tendrils of fire that were uncurling themselves through his chest. He wasn’t here to relax, he was here to work. Mustang could be an enemy, at this very moment, and Ed couldn’t take the time to be sick to get distracted. There would be time later, after he had cracked DuMont’s code and proven whether or not Mustang was, literally speaking, a plant. 

And found a new apartment, Ed reminded himself. He was also here because he, quite literally, had nowhere else to go. It wouldn’t be too hard to find something new, though. The slums on the outskirts of town only grew, never shrank, after all. The only downside would be that the farther out from the city center the more identifiable the address.

Al was many things, many great things, but stupid was not one of them. Of course, the fire could give him the excuse to have the letters sent to his office instead, but that came with the downside of directly exposing his letters to Investigations. The sheer lack of them, added with the mundane content, would point clear arrows of issues and point them directly at Ed. Of course, knowing the paranoia that ran rampant in Investigations, the lack of content would also scream silently of other things to someone. Ed had been known as an alchemist, and alchemists were famous for their codes in Investigations, after all. No, it would be safer, and better, if Ed just forked over the cash for a small mailbox in the city. It was more convenient, Ed could explain to Al, and easier to pick up the letters after work, and, with the fire and his shifting residence, it would be easier to make sure none of the letters got lost. Al would believe that. Or, Al could finally use that as an excuse to cut all ties to Ed, something Ed had been fearing but seen coming for years now.

Ed would have done it in the beginning if he had been in Al’s shoes, after all. Any sane person would have.

“This is the bathroom,” Mustang opened the first door on the left and Ed stared at the white, lifeless tile once again, “I use the private bath, so this one is yours.”

Ed nodded. The master bath was at least tiled in shades of dark blues, and contained the standard accouterments that showed of basic use: soap, shampoo, razors. Bland, lifeless, and the perfect example of a lifetime of military living.

Wait. Razors. Shit, Ed knew he had forgotten something. There was no way he could go without shaving, he would look like Hoenheim within the week. He missed his little shaving kit dearly now, Granny had given it to him to prevent such a thing. He looked better clean shaved had been her comment. He didn’t look like that asshole is what Ed had taken it to mean.

Ed sighed. There was no choice, he would have to ask. He had seen a few disposable razors during his check earlier. How much would a new shaving kit cost? Could he afford it? Did Al still have his, and remember to use it? It was hot in Xing, much hotter than Amestris, and a beard would make it all the worse for Al. Was he still having issues with the temperature shifts between seasons?

“Do you have a razor I could borrow,” Ed asked, politely.

He was biting his tongue to keep from falling back on old habits. If this Mustang was a plant, then throwing him off his balance by being polite was worth it. Any info DuMont would have been able to gather about their personal relationship would be full of outdated information at this point; the two of them honestly hadn’t talked, or even interacted really, in years.

Mustang blinked for a second, and Ed watched carefully.

“Yeah, sure,” Mustang muttered, “Stay here.”

Ed rolled his eyes at that and leaned against the hallway wall and stifled a cough as he listened to Mustang rummaging through his bathroom. He wanted to call out that they were in the second drawer down, left side, behind the small collection of women’s hair accessories, but that would just be rude. And call attention to the fact that Mustang kept a collection of hair accessories like some sort of serial killer. A high end serial killer at that, Ed recognized some of those brand names and they did not come cheap. The women who left them must either be pissed or obsessed. Or had long forgotten, Mustang’s file seemed to indicate that he wasn’t actively stalking the night these days, which made things easier for Ed.

He had really not looked forward to the possibility of being kept up by the Bastard and one of his more recent conquests. Did plant even desire to fuck for casual fun? Would a human shaped plant be capable of an erection? The faux Mustang in DuMont’s lab had not been erect, but that could mean nothing.

“Here, these should do you for now,” Mustang said, handing three of the prepackaged razors to Ed.

“Thanks,” Ed replied, the word choking in his throat and exploding out at the beginning of a coughing fit that left his gasping and Mustang showing visible signs of panic.

“Come on,” Mustang carefully took his arm, kicking aside the dropped razors, “Can you breathe?”

“It’s just smoke inhalation,” Ed croaked, allowing Mustang to lead him to the nearest spare bedroom, his room now Ed supposed.

And, for all his chest felt like it was full of ground glass that was suffocating him from the inside out, he knew it was temporary and would clear up in a few days. It merely hurt worse this time because of the underlying issues with his bronchitis. But it wasn’t the first time he had suffered from smoke inhalation, and, undoubtedly, Mustang was familiar with it as well. You didn’t become an expert at fire alchemy without setting yourself on fire a few times, after all. Or get stuck breathing deep the after effects of your success.

“What the fuck was so important that you went back in for it,” Mustang demanded, ignoring Ed’s protests and carefully setting him up on the bed.

There was even a minor amount of pillow fluffing. That set Ed’s nerves on fire, there was no way that the real Mustang would have been fluffing his pillows, no matter how sick he was. The sterile house, the ‘human’ reaction to someone in pain? Well created human reactions, but too generic to fit a person like Mustang with those that truly knew him. But how long had Mustang been a fake, and how could he prove it? Hawkeye wouldn’t go in with guns blazing without solid proof, not when it was Mustang that was on the line.

And, more importantly, was the real Mustang even alive?

“A photo,” Ed lied easily, “And my books.”

“You and your fucking books,” Mustang growled, finally deciding that Ed was settled and lowering himself into the armchair by the window.

With winter darkness having already carpeted the world, leaving only the overhead light on, Ed was reminded of the many white hospital rooms he had spent his childhood and teenage years in. The bed was more comfortable, and an angry Mustang, even if it was an angry Mustang impostor, rather than an angry Al, was a nice change of pace.

“I have an entire goddamn library downstairs that you’re welcome to use,” Mustang snapped, his fists tightening and Ed flinched out of instinct.

He’d already had those fingers snap at him once today, he wasn’t in a hurry for them to finish the job now.

“It was my library,” Ed reminded him, “They were my books! I didn't want to be pounding on someone's door like a beggar!”

The two stared at each other angrily. Ed knew there was nothing he could do if Mustang decided to snap his fingers. He didn’t have his alchemy any longer, he was helpless. Mustang could sweep up the ashes and replace the covers before the night was half done, but that would be proof enough for Hawkeye, she would be steady in her aim to stop him then.

One life for one country. It wouldn’t be a bad price. It would go a long way toward making up for all the harm both he and his father had done in the first place. Hawkeye would see to it that Al was taken care of, that would be the only thing that would have worried him.

“They weren’t worth your life,” Mustang sighed, pulling off his gloves.

Ed swallowed and stared. He was still alive. Not only was he still alive, but Mustang was disarming himself. He couldn’t fully wrap his head around this. What kind of enemy would allow an enemy into their home territory, and then willingly disarm themselves? Could it be faulty training by DuMont? It had to be, her and whomever she was working with clearly had no understanding of military tactics if their Mustang was trained like this. Which couldn’t be right or Hawkeye would have spotted the major issues from day one. And there’s no way Mustang, the real Mustang, would have helped make up the difference.

“It’s not like you can use alchemy anyway,” Mustang finally said, interrupting the worn, nervous silence.

“Go fuck yourself,” Ed snapped back immediately, clenching his fists and turning away, letting the throb of the automail remind him why it was better for the world that he neutered.

The door slammed shut behind Mustang and Ed continued to stare out the window at the constant glow of night life across Central.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, two chapters in one week! Woo! I decided that shorter chapters, more frequently, is better than no chapters for months on end. Also, as an English teacher, there are some periods of the school day when I have, quite literally, nothing to do. This is very boring. So I'm handwriting the chapters out and then transcribing them when I get home. Which is boring when I get home, but gives me something to do at work.
> 
> And now a half dozen little Japanese students have seen my cursive (I was actually taught calligraphy, so my cursive is a lot fancier than a messy scrawl), and really, really want to learn it. I keep explaining to them that they should really get a handle on print first, but they may end up learning cursive first and print second. It's how I learned to write English, so it is possible, just a little odd. 
> 
> Oh, and Mustang is totally an ass. Or faux Mustang is an ass. Either way, a Mustang shaped bipedal subject is totally an ass.


	11. Chapter 11

It was still dark when Ed rolled over and let a coughing fit rip through him, leaving him gasping with a rattling breath that merely fed his growing nausea. He remembered that sound coming from his mother’s chest not long before she died, and that merely sparked a long road of nightmares and regrets. His one soothing thought as he dragged himself out of bed was that there would be no one left behind that cared enough to make the same mistakes he had.

He groaned as he looked at the clock; it was four in the morning. Too early to be properly awake, too late to go back to sleep. There was nothing for it but to drag himself out into the real world and away from his bed. Hopefully the water was hot and the Bastard hadn’t been stingy with the size of the water tank; Ed had every intention of soaking in the shower until there was no hot water left. He also still had yet to shave, he grumbled to himself, cursing his illness from stopping that one human decency he had always treasured.

On the plus side, Ed reminded himself as he limped carefully to the bathroom, it meant that Mustang wouldn’t be able to sneak off and trade information with the enemy. Or become the enemy, depending on the case. He was still on the fence about it but, hopefully, DuMont’s notes would give some way he could get physical proof. Hawkeye wouldn’t put a billet between his eyes until he stepped out of line or could be confirmed to be a plant. Hopefully Mustang’s library was impressive as advertised so he would be able to get this done quickly and…

Ed stopped, letting the hot water beat down on him. The heat was amazing on his automail, but the steam was wreaking havoc with his lungs. A pleasure, a pain, and he had just realized that he had nowhere to go after the mission was finished. His apartment was a pile of ashes, and he had managed to wander away from every bridge he had had ages ago. He especially wasn’t looking forward to the dorm again, but, at this point, it’s not like he had much of a choice. Not until he found a new place, that was going to be the hard part. And the expensive part. A new bed, new blankets, new books. It would cost a literal fortune, and he knew he didn’t have that. He guessed he’s better get ready to dorm life once again. At least it was better than the slums, and excuses about being closer to work and looking for a new place would keep for a while. Hopefully. They wouldn’t be unusual, at least.

The water still wasn’t cold by the time he stepped out of the shower, and Ed was in a painful, miserable heaven. He could barely breathe for the pain, but at least he would walk unaided. It wouldn’t do for anyone to get of his frowning reliance on a cane. Hawkeye alone would be living, and an enemy, and Ed knew he had made many over the years, could use the information to deadly satisfaction.

Ed had never been so glad that someone was a neat freak, he decided, after he was able to navigate his way quietly to the kitchen in the dark. He could barely breathe, and he knew the pain relief of a how shower was merely a temporary reprieve for his leg. He needed his tea, and he needed it twenty minutes ago.

He could also see it as a test for Mustang, he decided. Do plant people eat? Could plant people eat? Had Hawkeye noticed a change in the Bastard’s appetite? These were all things he needed to know, and coupled with the fact that he needed to take his tea with food, it provided the perfect opportunity to figure it out. There should even be enough food around for once to cook something decent. The clock barely read five, but he could simply save the egg mix until Mustang deigned to rise, but he needed his omelet now. He’s have to set a timer too, he realized, to remind him during his research to take tea breaks and have everything put away and hidden by the time Mustang returned. He may have hated working undercover, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how. It was just easier when his cover was himself.

He smiled as he pulled the sausages from the fridge. He hadn’t bought meat in ages, not unless Lucy forced him into it, and the ability to sit back and enjoy the flavor of the meant in a proper omelet, in a warm kitchen with a hot cup of tea? It was worth every bit of trouble that had brought him here. A quick search turned up what looked to be a well loved frying pan; if Mustang didn’t cook now he most certainly once had. Or someone who had frequented the house had cooked for him, which was certainly a possibility with Mustang’s lifestyle habits. Ed just knew, with the certainty of a well written Investigations dossier, that Mustang had never had a full time chef or cook in his employment, not any form of housekeeper. 

Most of the paranoid old brass that knew how many enemies they had made over the years were all the same about that. It was normally the spouses that instituted changes on that scale. Well, whoever it was, Ed decided that he liked them as he placed the well seasoned cast iron down and lit a match to start frying sausages, the kettle was heating away on the back burner already.

“I’ll take three,” Mustang said, walking into the kitchen, his hair still wet from what must have been the quickest shower in history.

Ed had been very careful to check that he was asleep when he had headed downstairs. But, then again, depending on how light of a sleeper he was, the very act of checking on him could have woken him up. Or lighting the stove. Knowing the pyro it was the stove that had woken him. He was probably more sensitive to it than most.

“Yeah,” Ed failed at smothering another coughing fit, but shook his head as Mustang began to approach.

“Edward,” Mustang honestly sounded worried, and Ed would have snorted if he wasn’t currently trying not to sound like a drowning fish.

Whoever had done his Mustang training had fucked up big time. Yeah, he knew Mustang cared for him, he went through Promised Day with the bastard after all, but to the extent he was displaying now? There were red flags flying across his vision, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long and painful burning to death would be. He’d have to make sure to hide his work somewhere outside of the house so that it could get to Hawkeye after he died. He trusted only Hawkeye to be able to navigate around Mustang’s alchemy and surviving long enough to stop him and this plot.

The kettle whistled in the background.

“M’ fine,” Ed gasped, straightening up, “Sounds worse than it is. Three sausages, yeah?”

Mustang nodded and Ed could almost hear the click of his teeth as he bit his tongue. Ed ignored it and turned to pour boiling water into two mugs; one his necessary coffee and one a foul smelling reminder of how his body was turning against him. He thought for a second and then pulled down a third mug for Mustang.

Ed could feel his gaze burrowing into his back as he shifted the sausages out of the pan and began to pour in the eggs. The smell was heavenly, and he was so happy to be able to eat properly cooked eggs again. A gift of a thousand years upon whoeer it was that had seasoned Mustang’s pan with animal fat. The taste alone was going to be worth the torture. 

“How do you take your coffee,” Ed asked, setting a mental timer for his tea. Personally he found the instant mix that Mustang kept foul, but he was willing to bet that it was easily compensated for with an appropriate amount of sugar.

“Black,” Mustang responded, still staring at Ed.

Ed just nodded and handed the mug over carefully before turning back to the eggs. He was dying to observe how Mustang handled the hot liquid; would he blow on it? Would he sip it? Would he even be able to consume it hot? Would he be able to control his intake to manageable levels?

But, instead, he did the intelligent thing and kept cooking the eggs. It would look terrible on his record if he managed to kill both himself and Mustang, or faux Mustang, by burning a few eggs. Ed snorted, who was he kidding? He would burn up but Mustang would escape unscathed and still be a suspect for Hawkeye to track. Better to play it safe rather than sorry and miss the morning coffee. This time. Ed knew he was a genius but even he had to draw the line somewhere, and he knew he would at least have a few days, if not longer, to crack DuMont’s code. And then actually go through her notes and hope there was actual, usable information there rather than destroyed in the lab.

A quick flick of the wrist plated the eggs, happily not runny, and Mustang took the plate carefully, setting it down as Ed passed the sausages as well. With a grunt of thanks, Ed put his own plate down and then carefully carried his own mugs of tea and coffee over.

“Thank you,” Mustang sighed, ‘For all of this. And I apologize for what I said last night, it was uncalled for.”

Ed nodded and sipped his tea, succeeding at not making a face at the bitter flavor. It’s not like he hadn’t had it all before. Hell, it’s not like he hadn’t thought it all before. His entire identity before the Promised Day had been Al and his alchemy, and now he had neither. What use was he?

Well, he still had his mind, and plenty of people had used that as their sole weapon before him. He could adapt. The throbbing pain from his left leg reminded him just how good at adapting he was. And how good he was at screwing up too.

Mustang’s plate emptied itself fairly quickly; a soldier’s speed. Ed, on the other hand, made his way slowly through his eggs, merely pausing to take more sips of tea. It truly was a foul concoction that left an uncomfortable burning sensation rippling through his body. A throbbing, scalding beat that matched that of his heart.

“No problem,” Ed swallowed and nodded, “Thanks for letting me crash here. Won’t take too long to find a new place.”

“Edward,” Mustang growled, frowning down at the coffee cup he was nursing, “You’re sick. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you can find a new place until after the storm repairs are done.”

Ed just nodded and grimaced as the taste of his tea combined with eggs, and rejected the urge to spit the mouthful out. It was for his own good, he reminded himself. The worst crap tasted the better it was for you. Hopefully. At least the coffee drowned it out; the sole benefit of shitty coffee, it seemed.

Mustang finished his coffee when Ed was nearing the end of his eggs, the tea thankfully drained to the last dregs. The eggs weren’t helping, but the flavor was beginning to fade. By the time he was well his old preference for as cheap as possible would be a king’s banquet when compared to this tea. He glanced up at Mustang as he finished off his eggs, the sausages long gone, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Mustang nursing a now empty mug and plate.

He began to update his mental notes automatically. Mustang could eat food, hot food at that, with no signs of distress. He could also consume hot beverages without issue or signs of discomfort. He had shitty taste in coffee, but Ed would have to check with Hawkeye to see if that was normal. Ed had to admit that, given how soldiers adapted to their lives, it could possibly be, though most easily switched to better coffees once they had a more stable station in places like Central.

Could he taste the food, though? Ed had eaten it too, which could have been the signal to Mustang that it was safe for human consumption. Ed had appeared to enjoy the food, even before it was served, which could also have been a signal that Mustang should have expressed enjoyment while eating it. Would Mustang know to grimace and rant about poorly cooked food? That was something Ed could easily put to the test as early as this evening; cooking may have been a simple science but it was not one he had ever properly mastered. Over salting the food alone would make for an interesting reaction. Salt killed plants, could it kill a plant based Mustang? If it did damage him how much would it require? And how fast? Ed was still not looking forward to the possibility of a painful death by immolation and the hands of a crazed plant person.

“How is Al,” Mustang finally broke the silence as Ed continued to nurse his own mug of coffee.

Ed glanced down into the coffee, and took a careful sip once more, wondering what he should say. Anything he said could be used against him; the real Mustang was ruthless, a faux Mustang would be collecting information. Would they be collecting information about Xing? About alkehestry? Possibly. Probably. Once they took over here Xing was one of the next obvious choices for nations to conquer. If conquering was the goal.

Father’s goal had been destruction instead.

“Good. He’s doing good,” Ed nodded, “Studying, seeing the sites. He’s dating Mei,” Ed lied. 

Simple and without details. And so generically boring that it could apply to any person in any country at nearly any time. Keep Al safe, no matter what the mission. Ed had already destroyed his brother’s life once, Al didn’t need Ed to destroy it a second time. Al was finally free, he didn’t need Ed to pull him back in for something as stupid as plant people taking over the government.

“Does he know about your apartment?”

Ed raised an eyebrow. Communication between Amestris and Xing was strained at best, though the desert kept them from being active enemies. But there was no forms of instant communication that he knew of. None that he would know how to contact Al if there is one. He had an address, probably an old one, but finding Al was probably easy if he stayed in the same city. Everyone liked Al, so his mail probably still got delivered.

“Haven’t had the chance to write him,” Ed pointed out.

Mustang frowned and nodded, and Ed tightened his gaze. Mustang would know about the lack of communication between Amestris and Xing. It had helped with Promised Day plans. For Mustang to suddenly ‘forget’ was alarming. Ed’s hand tightened around his mug, the cooling heat stinging a little as it sunk into his palm, and he eyed the man warily. This was a strike against Mustang being human. But, on the other hand, at least he now knew that the fake Mustang was poorly designed. Some detail work had been forgotten and left out. Or, now that he thought about it, some details would not have been known outside of their little group.

That meant that the others had either not been replaced, or that the original Mustang had been poorly interrogated. And, knowing Mustang, if he had been interrogated he had gone out of his way to lie and leave gaps where he thought people would notice. Mustang was trying to help, hopefully not from beyond the grave.

“There paper in the library,” Mustang stood, offering a hand to Ed.

Ed drained his mug, no sense in letting bad coffee go to waste, and waived the hand off. He could get around easily at the moment as long as he took it careful. He would have to get to an automail mechanic sooner rather than later anyway, just to be on the safe side. His life could depend on it given the questionable status of Mustang.

“How many copies of ‘I shouldn’t have set that on fire’ do you have,” Ed joked.

Mustang sighed, opening the door to the library and waving his hand as if in introduction, the fireplace at the end snapping to life with the lights. Ed was impressed, he hadn’t had a chance to really look at it the previous day, but he spotted a few titles that he had been reminding himself to review over the past year or two. And, hopefully, this would be enough to do his research. If it wasn’t he would have to convince Hawkeye to steal titles from the main library so as to be untraceable. 

The burning in his chest began to itch at his throat and Ed winced and tried to clear his throat with a quiet cough. It would have worked, he told himself, if it wasn’t for the fact that bronchitis and smoke inhalation are not tiny cough issues. He leaned hard against a bookcase, gasping and as his vision swam and he tried not to cough himself sick. Mustang was at his side, when did Mustang get by his side?, and was rubbing his back, lowering him to the floor gently.

“Stay here,” Mustang said, and Ed just nodded, gasping, watching the floor spin as he crouched on his hands and knees, and tried to breathe.

The tea was supposed to stop this, he cursed. Maybe mixing it all together at once stopped it from working? Maybe the hot shower this morning was worse for it than he thought? He would have to remember that for tomorrow. No long, hot shower. Separate mugs for the teas. No trying to clear his throat without expecting to start dying on the floor. At least it was in a library. He loved libraries. He wouldn’t regret dying in a library, he would just regret not being able to figure out if Mustang was real or not. 

One thing was for sure: Hawkeye was going to kill him for this.

Slowly his breathing began to even out and the coughing stopped, and Ed sat up and leaned back against the bookcase gratefully. He had forgotten how good it felt to actually breathe. But where was Mustang? The man had rushed off somewhere, probably to fetch a glass of water, but that was taking too long. And Ed didn’t want to call out for him in case that triggered the coughing fit again.

“Here,” Mustang said, rushing back into the room and carefully handing Ed a steaming mug of some sort of liquid.

Ed raised an eyebrow. It smelled like lemons, so it wasn’t his tea, but it was a deep red, so definitely not a simple, steaming lemon water. Probably some sort of fire alchemists secret brew for after having burned out their lungs one too many times.

“Breathe it in, and sip it slowly, it should help,” Mustang explained, “It helps with smoke inhalation.”

“Fucking pyro,” Ed gasped, inhaling the sweet, citrus scent of the tea and taking a sip.

It wasn’t bitter, but there was a distinct acid tang that cut through the odd, earthy taste. Ed merely hoped it wasn’t poison. Would it be easy to replace him? He didn’t have alchemy that needed to be learned, he couldn’t imagine the Gate reacting too well to plant people trying to learn his alchemy in the first place, and he kept to himself often enough that there might not be anyone who could verify him without a physical test. And there could be no physical test until Ed found a way to create one.

He would have to talk to Hawkeye about that. A code phrase, or a small piece of information. Something, anything, for her to be able to confirm that he was still himself on a daily basis. And he would need one for her. After he made sure that she was still really her. Which he couldn’t do at the moment.

He could strangle DuMont. She was a genius; a psychotic, plant obsessed genius.

But, whatever Mustang’s possible intentions, the citrus tea was working, and his breathing was a little easier. He could feel the pinprick of sweat along his brow and wrinkled his forehead in disgust. He would have to shower again. He would have to wait for Mustang to leave for work first though, he couldn’t risk leaving the man unobserved just for a simple shower. Doing it this morning had already been a foolish move on his part.

The silence stretched on between them as Mustang hovered and Ed rolled his eyes, leaning back against a bookcase and clutching the mug in his hands. Hawkeye was going to have his head when she found out about this, how would he be able to physically do anything if his lungs could barely keep him breathing? At least research wasn’t physically active. 

Mustang’s ungloved fingers twitched nervously, and thoughts continued to collect and run aground in Ed’s head. If this was a fake Mustang why was he being so nice? Why was he being this helpful, surely it would be easier to let him cough himself to death on the carpet. Maybe they needed the original human for production. Or, more likely, for intelligence gathering. Mustang’s fingers continued to twitch and Ed made a note to ask Hawkeye about Mustang’s more personal habits and ticks. 

He would have to ask Hawkeye about a lot of things.

“Will you be alright,” Mustang asked as Ed finished off the syrupy concoction, “Here, today. If that happens again-”

“I’ll be fine,” Ed cut him off, his voice a painful gravel, sticking in his throat.

He needed to be here, alone, to be able to do his research. A caretaker, especially any that Mustang may call, would merely cause issues. And possibly his death. Would it be less painful than fire? If there was an army of Mustangs being created it could be a lot worse than a single death. Mustang knew how to kill people with his fire, he was an expert at it.

“I’ve had worse,” Ed rasped, his fingers tapping against his left knee.

Mustang’s fist tightened but he said nothing. Had Ed ever told him about the time that he had used himself as a Gate to heal himself? He couldn’t remember, whatever Mustang had given him made his head feel fuzzy.

Shit. Ed dropped the mug and stared up at Mustang, his eyes going wide even as the world began to tilt; Mustang had drugged him.

Ed lurched, falling to his side and scrambling, kicking and clutching at the carpet, dragging himself away from Mustang. He knew it was useless, his limbs were heavy, and he was sinking, but he had to escape, had to get away so he could warn Hawkeye, warn anyone, that Mustang was an impostor. He couldn’t escape, and, even worse, he couldn’t fight back.

“You’re okay, Ed, you’re okay,” Mustang soothed, catching a weakly struggling Ed in his arms.

At least Hawkeye would know now, though, Ed thought to himself. If he went missing, then Hawkeye would know for sure that this Mustang was a fake. She had to.

Al, Ed thought wistfully as the darkness ate his sight and he went limp in Mustang’s trembling arms. He wanted to say goodbye to Al.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am really, really sorry that this took so long to post. I honestly thought I had, and then I got busy at work, and then I sat down to re read the fic and realized that hey, I hadn't actually published the last chapter that I thought I had. Or finished writing it, so it's not like this has been sitting on my laptop waiting or anything. I survived the worst of the Japanese summer though, so now I get to see what the Japanese winter will throw at me this far north. Tokyo was a pain, but that's because of the lack of insulation in apartments in Tokyo, I'm hoping for slightly better up here north of Sendai. But, if not, I have a kotatsu and little usb mittens to keep my fingers warm. 
> 
> Hopefully the next update will be soon. Within a week or so. Maybe? I don't know, slow update warning continues.
> 
> Also, sorry for the cliff hanger. Oops.


	12. Chapter 12

The sheets and blankets were familiar. He knew they weren’t his, they were too crisp, and the blankets were too heavy, but he knew he knew them from somewhere. His childhood. He let his brain try to shake off the groggy feeling that was preventing him from thinking, and then he remembered. Hospital sheets. He had certainly known Amestris hospital sheets quite well during his childhood, hospital rooms had nearly been his second home at one point.

What was he doing in the hospital? He had been, something important. He paused, thinking. The dots were still fuzzy, but they were becoming clearer by the second. Mustang. Mustang was an impostor, and had drugged him. Mustang was why he was in the hospital. Hawkeye, or Havoc, must have discovered him after Mustang had drugged him and escaped.

Where was he now? Clearly there had been no overthrow of the government if he was here, safely tucked into a hospital bed, but it was impossible to tell for sure. He could be an overlooked piece of the puzzle. It wasn’t like he was a threat anymore, he had no way of physically stopping someone like Mustang, let alone an army of them. He had only been a threat for as long as Mustang remained hidden and Ed had been able to give away his secret.

He hoped that Hawkeye had stopped him. She had always sworn she would, and this Mustang, though he had the form and the alchemy, was not her Mustang. She would have a clear conscience while doing her job.

He let his eyes blink open, and turned to the figure at the side of his bed and froze. It was Mustang. What was Mustang doing there? Shouldn’t he be on the run, or busy attempting his little coup? Had Ed discovered something without noticing? Was he watching Ed to see what move he would make next? Why? 

Maybe the information he had on Ed truly was completely wrong. Maybe they believed that Ed still had his alchemy, or some other form of power, that was a danger to their little organization. Ed had no way of knowing, all he knew was that a man that had nearly killed him today was sitting next to his bed, slumped over and appearing to be asleep, and, judging by the lancing agony that stemmed from his left leg, Ed had no safe way of escape.

Where the hell was Hawkeye?

Was she even still alive?

“You’re awake,” Hawkeye’s voice was soft, and Ed turned toward the door, confused.

Hawkeye was alive, and Mustang was alive after trying to kill him. Had everything that had happened been a dream? Had he been sick and the entire thing been some fever induced haze? But why would Mustang and Hawkeye be in his hospital room if that were the case? After so many years removed from one another any illness he had had would certainly not have warranted a bedside vigil.

“Don’t speak,” Hawkeye whispered, holding up her hand, glancing over at Mustang, “Can you walk?”

Ed shook his head. His leg was a fire of blistering agony. He wouldn’t be able to support his own weight on it like this, let alone walk. Why did it hurt so much? Had he injured it? Was the port infected? The latter was quite likely, but he had no way of knowing. Nothing was adding up with his memories, and he desperately needed answers.

Hawkeye disappeared and then returned a few minutes later with a wheelchair, and Ed sighed but nodded. He had known that was coming, it truly was the only way they would be able to get away without him making a fool of himself. He was stubborn, but not stupid.

Although, he noted, they clearly weren’t escaping from Mustang. It was them just taking a little stroll. The windows were dark, so it must be night, but why was he in a private room in the first place? His rank didn’t warrant a private room, but, then again, given what had happened during the Promised Day all those years ago, there may still be some privileges left that he was ignorant of. Either way, given the current peace it was unlikely he was stealing the room from anyone, so it was nothing he truly needed to be concerned about. 

“Wait,” Hawkeye mummered, still wheeling him down the hallway, “Havoc has eyes on him, don’t worry.” 

That confirmed what he remembered, then. Mustang was still a threat, but why he was still around after what had happened to him confused Ed. Clearly things were happening that he knew nothing about, especially if Hawkeye still hadn’t shot the fake Mustang. Why had his attacker been allowed to be in his room at all in the first place!?

Hawkeye wheeled them into an empty private room and closer the door firmly behind her. Ed glared up at her, but his throat was burning and he knew that even trying to speak right now would bring on yet another one of his coughing fits. 

“Drink this,” she said calmly, pouring him a glass of water, “You were rushed to the hospital early this morning. Apparently Mustang accidentally poisoned you.”

“Accidentally,” Ed growled, his voice shooting sparks down his throat and through his lungs and he tried not to curl up on himself.

“The doctors said it was an interaction between the medication you’re already taking and what Mustang gave you. A simple tea, usually for smoke inhalation.”

Ed snorted, but it was a likely explanation. Herbal concoctions could have all sorts of harmful interactions if not monitored properly, and Ed had no way of knowing when he had accepted Mustang’s drink that it would have caused that many issues. Outside of someone knowing exactly what he was taking, which Ed had to admit that even he didn’t know, nearly anything he ate or drank ran the risk of causing him to becoming violently ill. He would have to finally get the ingredient list from Lucy so as to prevent it from ever happening again.

“How long,” Ed gasped, the pain finally fading slightly, and he continued to sip on his cup of water. It didn’t really help, but it was a distraction from the pain itself.

“You’ve been unconscious for fifteen hours. Havoc has had eyes on him for most of the day under the excuse that he was organizing communication with myself. I relieved him three hours ago. He hasn’t left your side once.”

“He’s a fake Mustang,” Ed sighed, “You know that. I just need to find a way to physically prove it.”

Hawkeye hesitated, but then finally nodded. She looked sad, and Ed winced. She had practically grown up with the Bastard, she had promised to protect him, and, ultimately, she had promised to kill him if he ever went out of control. Now there was a plant wearing his face and using his alchemy, she could do nothing but respect that one last command. To stop him at all costs.

“Whoever gathered intelligence for the fake did a pretty bad job. His interactions with me are beyond off, has he done anything odd around the office?”

“Nothing that would make me suspect his being a fake,” Hawkeye sighed, her gun finger twitching, “But, then again, who looks to see if someone they know has been replaced by a plant clone?”

Ed snorted and smiled, “In our lives, I guess we should start considering it more often.”

Hawkeye chuckled sadly and nodded.

“I can’t do anything until we have physical proof.”

Ed nodded, “I need to discover a test so that I can check the rest of the office, and then the chain of command, to see how far this goes. Mustang is probably only the latest plant. They were probably replacing non alchemically gifted people long before now. And, given the need for information, Intelligence may have an increased amount of fakes to begin with. There’s no telling what the ultimate plan was until we actually discover who and why.”

Hawkeye nodded, and frowned. He didn’t blame her, it was a disturbing thought. Everyone they knew, everyone that they talked to every day, any single one of them could be a replacement, the enemy. Even during the Promised Day they had never had to deal with a threat on this level. This would be nearly impossible to sort out until they had testing procedures in place, and even after that it would be chaos. Where were the originals? Were they in on the plot? Were there real people who were in on the plot that helped the fakes get established in the first place?

Something on this scale would get out, and it would undermine the entire government. It was still on shaky ground so soon after Father had been exposed, there was no way Amestris would be able to survive this. At least Al would be safe, far beyond the sandy desert borders, and Ed wouldn’t have to worry about him coming to violence.

Would the entire country collapse into violence? He would have to warn Granny and Winry to make sure they were safe, but they probably would be. That far out in the countryside the government barely had a presence outside of the post and the train schedule anyway. It was places like Central and East City where the main damage would be done.

“This is going to destroy Amestris, Ed, if it’s true.”

“Amestris is already destroyed if these fakes take power,” Ed pointed out.

What was their final goal? Mustang wasn’t fighting for any new political fights as of late, nor was anyone else. Everything, outside of the standard issues that had always come up in a government the size of Amestris’, was mundanely normal. Ed saw nothing that marked sudden rough or choppy waters. That was probably part of the disguise: none of the fakes were to rock the boat until everyone was in place, and then the entire country was to capsize all at once. For whatever reason.

“How long do I have to remain in hospital?”

“Until Monday at least,” Hawkeye sighed.

Ed glared and Hawkeye rolled her eyes and sighed, “You stopped breathing and nearly died. The doctors have you under observation. Winry was also called up somehow to look at your automail. The port is infected and the leg itself needs to be replaced.” 

“If I make a list, can you get me the books I need as well as DuMont’s notes? I should be able to get the code cracked and the notes translated this weekend, but I need-”

“You need to rest,” Hawkeye reminded him.

“I need to save the damn country again,” Ed shot back, “No moving around, just make sure I can trust the staff, and get Mustang out of my room. Why the hell is he in my room in the first place?”

“He was worried about you,” Hawkeye sighed, “He felt guilty.”

Do plants even feel guilt? Mustang sitting a bedside watch, over him no less, was clearly a sign at how badly gathered the intelligence on Mustang was. Maybe Intelligence wasn’t mostly taken over at this point.

“Winry will be arriving on the Monday train, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thank you,” Ed sighed, leaning back in the wheelchair and rubbing at his forehead.

Cracking a code, translating notes, understanding them, and developing a physical test to expose an army of plant clones that were trying to overthrow the government. He had done harder with less. With Al. Could he do it without Al and his alchemy? Probably not, but he would only die if he failed.


End file.
